


30 Days of Victory (Or, More Accurately, Victuuri)

by death_frisbee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, But mostly extra moments, Child Katsuki Yuuri, Domestic Fluff, Fairy Tale Curses, Feels, Funeral, Injury, Injury Recovery, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, NO TEARS FOR US, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Retirement, Sweet Moments, Vicchan - Freeform, VictUuri, Victor's retirement, doped up fanboy obsession, everyone is extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 32,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee
Summary: A 30 day OTP challenge celebrating everyone's favorite Ice Husbands.





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I HATE NANOWRIMO. I do. I genuinely hate it. _But_ I like being forced out of my comfort zone, and daily writing + reciprocated romance are both very much out of my comfort zones. So my goal is one ficlet per day throughout all of November (sometimes loosely) based on [this list](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/9b/97/e0/9b97e057e61a7966ca5c3c3e755bb630--art-challenge-oc-drawing-challenge.jpg). Can't guarantee that it'll be every day, because I do work retail and this is prime retail month, but I figure I'd give it the ol' college try.
> 
> I'll be working on other things in-between--I still have to finish Metanoia, and I have a few other ideas as well--so no worries there. Hope you all enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Getting Lost Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this WAS posted November 1st my time. There's still five minutes of the day left.

Initially, competing in the Ice Challenge had seemed like a good idea. There wasn’t _quite_ as much at stake as there was in the Grand Prix, and Victor had used it as a way to push Yuuri even more out of his comfort zone. And, throughout the competitions leading up to the one in Graz, Austria, Yuuri’s full faith had been put into his husband.

That faith wavered as he watched Victor stare blankly at a map in the airport for ten minutes.   

“I…think the rink is this way,” he finally said, pointing vaguely toward his left.

Yuuri’s faith broke completely. “Do you not know?” he asked, voice sharp with concern.

Victor immediately sent his husband a wounded look. “Do you not trust me, Золотце _?”_

Yuuri blinked once, then twice, then pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes. “Oh my god, you _don’t_ know…” Before Victor could argue, he puffed out a breath. “It’s fine. It’s…we’ll be fine. I’ll just use my phone…”

Yuuri let out another long breath as he pulled out his phone. He’d just pull up the map and…

_クソ._

_His phone was dead._

This deep breath was a little shakier, but Yuuri did his best to keep it together even though he was fairly certain his stomach was currently at his feet. He turned back to Victor, ignoring his husband’s continued pout.

“Let me see your phone.” His stomach—still in his feet—flipped as Victor’s look suddenly grew sheepish. _“You don’t have your phone?”_

“I…might have realized on the plane that I left it at home. But we’re only here for—”

“ _What kind of international athletic superstar leaves his phone at home?!_ ” Yuuri gripped his head as his chest tightened painfully, then forced out a breath. “Okay. Okay. Can you ask for directions?”

Victor frowned. “I don’t speak German.”

“ _You don’t_ —you speak five languages!”

“I only speak four, but I’m flattered you think—”

“ _Chris is Swiss!_ ”

“ _French_ Swiss.”

Yuuri stared hard at Victor for a moment, then gripped his head again. “Okay. _Okay_. So we won’t be able to find the rink and then I won’t be able to practice and then we won’t be able to find the hotel because it’s near the rink and then I’ll be too tired to compete but I won’t be able to compete anyway because we won’t find the rink and—”

“ _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri was abruptly cut off as warm hands cupped his face. He swallowed and met Victor’s warm blue eyes.

“We’ll get to the rink.” He kissed Yuuri’s forehead soothingly. “I’d be a colossal failure of a coach if I couldn’t get my skater where he needed to be.” He pulled back and gave Yuuri a wink. “We’ll just use my trick to get around. It _always_ works.”

Despite the worry still gnawing in his stomach, Yuuri managed a small smile. “Okay.” He pulled Victor closer, pressing their foreheads together as he let out one last, long breath. “Okay. I trust you. Let’s use your trick.”

Victor’s “trick,” as it turned out, was simply turning his charm up to eleven, tilting his head to evoke a definite “lost puppy” look, and hold up a paper with the name of the rink. There was a lot of pointing, a lot of nodding, and a _lot_ of retracing steps. But Yuuri steadfastly followed Victor, no matter what doubts popped into his head.

And then, the miracle happened.

They managed to find themselves at Eisstadion Liebenau.

Victor waved triumphantly toward the stadium, a wide, sunny smile on his face. “You see? I told you it’d work!”

Yuuri couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Yes. Yes, you did.” He looked up at his husband warmly, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I knew I could trust you.”

Victor preened at the kiss, then pulled Yuuri toward the doors. “Come on, you still have plenty of practicing to do! Your side of the medal shelf is still awfully empty.”

Yuuri laughed, letting himself be pulled. “So that really works every time? What you did back there?”

“Of course.” Victor turned back to give his husband a wink. “How do you think I found the onsen?”


	2. Золотце

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pet names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late because of a busy day and needing to look up a lot of Russian, but I'll make up for it with my day off.
> 
> Also, unless it's noted, there's no linear storytelling in this challenge. It's just whatever situation I think will work best for the prompt.

Initially, Yuuri had been worried about moving in with Victor. It wasn’t so much living together that concerned him—they’d essentially been doing that since Victor arrived at Yutopia—but the _sleeping_ together part. As in, literally-sharing-a-bed sleeping together. Yuuri was a night owl who regularly got by on about four to five hours sleep—a side-effect of university, no doubt; Victor, meanwhile, was in bed promptly at 10 pm and up promptly at 5 am. The first week resulted in a lot of waking the other up and pouting on both sides about not being able to cuddle with the other, and ultimately ending with their first real fight, which was quickly resolved after they both napped on the sofa with Makkachin.

Victor was the one who’d suggested Yuuri get in bed the same time as him, even if he didn’t sleep. He could sleep through anything, he assured brightly, and it wasn’t like Yuuri did anything too wild after 10 (so long as there was no alcohol.)

At first, things seemed to be going to plan. They settled down on their respective sides of the bed, Makkachin happily spread over their feet. Victor huddled under the covers, and Yuuri put in his headphones to watch his latest practice in order to figure out what to tweak.

“Good night, Золотце,” Victor hummed before turning off his light.

Yuuri smiled curiously at the pet name. That was a new one. Hm…well, he could take a _quick_ break for a search. He popped in “zolotse” into the search bar. Ah, there, first result was “Russian Pet Names for your Sweetheart,” perfect.

_Oh._

“My gold.”

Yuuri smiled, then settled back to re-watch the practice. All at once, he sat up.

 _Wait._ My _gold_.

“ _Am I the gold medal?!_ ”

Victor sat up with a start. “что?” he asked groggily, only to jump in surprise as Yuuri leaned over him.

“Am I the gold medal? Was that what you were talking about? I didn’t win a literal gold but I did get confident and if I’m ‘your gold’ then—oh my god, it was a _metaphor!_ ”

Victor blinked a few times, then rumpled his hair. “It’s too late for you to speak English so quickly. What’s a metaphor?”

“It’s when it’s not a literal—”

“No, I know that. But what…” Victor frowned as Yuuri whipped out his phone. “Who are you calling?”

“An officiant. Since I’m the gold medal, then that means we can get married right away and…” Yuuri blinked as Victor leaned forward to snatch the phone from his hand. “Hey!”

“ _Yuuri._ ” Victor smiled. “As much as I would love to get married right now, I need to sleep. And besides, I did say you needed to _win_ a gold medal, not _be_ a gold medal.” He leaned forward to give Yuuri a light kiss. “Otherwise we won’t be able to wear matching ones at our wedding.”

Yuuri blinked, then gave an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Guess I got a little excited over you calling me Золотце.”

Victor blinked, then let out a surprised laugh. “Really? Over that?”

Yuuri, surprised at Victor’s apparently mirth, frowned. “It means ‘my gold.’”

“Well…I guess it literally does. But it’s not so…it’s just a pet name. A literal one, actually; it’s what I named the goldfish I had when I was six.” Before Yuuri could argue, Victor leaned forward to give him another kiss. “Though, for what it’s worth, Золотце, you mean more to me than all the gold medals in the world.” He grinned. “Except for the one you’re going to win, of course.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight his smile. “Of course.”

Victor grinned and gave him one last kiss. “Now can I please go to sleep? I may die if I stay up as late as you do.”

Yuuri’s smile widened, and he turned off his light before cuddling up against his fiancé. “Let’s try going to bed at the same time. Just to see if that helps.” He kissed Victor’s shoulder before settling down. “Good night, Золотце.”

“I don’t count as a gold medal, either, you know.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”


	3. The Break - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Patching each other up.

Since his relationship with Yuuri had started, Victor was finding that he was getting very, _very_ good at reining in his natural, _maybe_ overblown reactions to bad situations, particularly when Yuuri was competing. Skaters were already delicate—Yuuri even more so when stress started getting to him—and their coaches needed to be a steadying force for them.

Even so, it took _every single ounce_ of his willpower to keep from vaulting onto the ice and carrying his husband straight to the hospital when Yuuri’s ankle buckled as he landed after a quad toe-loop. He did, however, bolt straight to his side once the medics had gotten him off the ice, hovering anxiously as Yuuri was checked for concussions, ice burns, and finally had his boot removed. Given the grunt and what had to be a stream of Japanese swears that came from his mouth, he’d done quite a number on it. So, of course, there was no way he could get back on the ice.

The ankle was wrapped, and—very carefully—he was carted back to his and Victor’s hotel room. There was the possibility of it being a sprain rather than a full fracture, so a day of RICE might bring down the swelling. Once the ankle had been elevated and Victor had done everything to make sure his husband was as comfortable as he could be, Yuuri let out an irritated huff and threw his arm over his face.

“I’m so _stupid_ ,” he muttered.

“What’s stupid is hitting your burn with your arm,” Victor said easily, gently pulling up the offending arm to make sure the patch of gauze was still in place on Yuuri’s cheek—as if the ankle wasn’t enough, Yuuri had more or less faceplanted into the ice. “The last thing we need is for Japan’s Most Beautiful Skater to have a scar on his face. Though it might make you look more rugged.”

Yuuri shut his eyes with a grimace, not even registering the joke. “On a quad _toe-loop_. That’s my _best_ quad. And I fell like the shitty skater I am—”

“Katsuki Yuuri, you _know_ that you’re the b—"

“And now I’ll have to retire because I broke my ankle!”

“We don’t know it’s broken yet,” Victor said evenly. Yuuri shot him as withering a look as he could manage.

“You saw me fall. You don’t think it’s broken?”

Victor pressed his lips together tightly. It was definitely broken. Yuuri’s body was surprisingly resilient, but the way his ankle had buckled…well, from experience, Victor was pretty sure he’d need surgery. But he couldn’t _say_ that.

“I’m going to get some ice for your wrist. I think you might have hurt it trying to catch yourself.”

As he got up to get some ice from the bathroom—the sink was filled, just in case—Yuuri huffed again. “At least I got to compete against you once before I retired,” he muttered. Victor’s head whipped around, and he sent a frown to his husband.

“You are _not_ retiring.” He almost snapped out the words, then took a breath as he wrapped the ice in a towel. “You’ll be out one season at most, even with surgery.”

“Surgery?! You think it’s that bad?” Yuuri started to sit up, but yelped at the movement. Victor was at his side in a moment, readjusting him to be comfortable before resting the impromptu ice pack on his wrist.

“That’s the worst case scenario,” Victor murmured, pushing back Yuuri’s hair. “And, if that’s the case, I expect you to win _at least_ five consecutive gold medals afterward.”

“Wha—Oh.” Yuuri’s expression softened. “Right. The 2009 GPF.”

Victor nodded, then pulled his foot up to rest on the edge of the bed as he pulled up his trouser leg. Against the pale skin, a faint, silvery line shot up the length of his ankle. “Six screws and the scar to prove it. And I was back in six months. With your stamina, I’m sure it’ll be half the time!” He grinned as he sat on the edge of the bed. “And you have a much handsomer coach guiding your recovery than I did. I’m sure that’ll help, too.”

Yuuri sighed, looking away from his husband. “But everyone’s going to say…”

“Every news site and TV station will be saying you ought to retire,” Victor said frankly. He leaned over to lightly push a strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face. “But your coach says that you still have far too much potential to stop now.” He smiled as he cupped Yuuri’s uninjured cheek. “And your husband’s decided _he’s_ the trophy husband in this relationship, and he certainly can’t be that if you retire now.”

Finally, a breathy laugh escaped Yuuri, and he shut his eyes as he leaned back against the pillows. “And so what do I do when the interviewers ask about my retirement?”

“You take a leaf from Yurio’s book and tell them to fuck off.”

Yuuri let out a real laugh this time, and he looked up at warmly at Victor. “Thank you, Vicchan,” he said, turning his head to kiss Victor’s palm. “Maybe after my surgery—”

“That’s the worst case scenario, remember.”

“—we’ll have matching scars.” He wiggled his finger underneath the ice pack, making his ring glint. Victor laughed before leaning down to give his husband a kiss.

“How romantic. I must be rubbing off on you,” he teased. “Now rest, Золотце. You can’t win those five gold medals until after you recover.”


	4. The Break - Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hospital Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late one because today was A Day. The next few days will also be A Days, but I'll keep doing my best!

                The worst case scenario ended up being the reality, unfortunately. Victor had been prepared for it—the break was nearly identical to his own in ’09—but Yuuri was understandably nervous. After all, he’d never had any major injuries, and he’d never been anywhere _near_ an operating room. Just before the surgery, he looked up at Victor with wide eyes.

                “It’s going to be all right? Nothing’s going to go wrong?” he asked. Both of them knew that the chance of anything going wrong were very, very slim, but that wasn’t why he was asking. So Victor took his hand—it looked so strange now without the wedding ring on it—and kissed his knuckles gently.

                “Everything will be fine,” he assured softly. “And soon enough you’ll be better than new, 図書館.”

                Despite everything, a loud laugh bubbled out from Yuuri. “That means ‘library’ and you know it.”

                “Because you are a wealth of knowledge and joy to me, my love.”

                “Nice save, Vitya.” Yuuri smiled, pulling Victor’s hand to his cheek, then let out a long, slow breath. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”

                “I’ll be right here when you wake up. It’ll be over before you know it.” Victor gave one last kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles, then—very slowly—drew his hand away. He gave Yuuri one last bright smile before he stepped out.

                Now he could properly worry. Because what if something _did_ go wrong? What if the anesthesia wore off or the bone wasn’t set right or a sliver of it got into his blood stream and stopped his heart (he’d seen that in  movie once) or-or-or-or…

                Sitting lightly in one of the plastic waiting room chairs—ready to hop up if they needed anything from him: signing, information, blood—he texted his worries to Yakov.

                - _Don’t be stupid. Thousands of skaters get this operation every year. Calm down._

                -Well, that wasn’t helpful. So he texted Chris his worries.

                - _You have to go three weeks without so much as touching Katsuki Yuuri’s perfect ass? Pauvre Vitya :(_

Oh, well, that _really_ didn’t help. Victor would have to talk to Chris about his current performance in his best friend role. Clearly some workshopping had to be done.

                But not now. Now he needed someone to sympathize with him. He didn’t want to worry his in-laws—they knew about the surgery, of course, and he didn’t want to make them think anything was wrong. So he turned to the other person he knew loved Yuuri almost as much as he did.

                - _what the hell are you texting me for?_

_-didn’t you get that same surgery like forever ago?_

_-shut up._

                After the flurry of texts from Yurio, one more came in a few moments later.

                - _tell the pig to get better or i’ll kick him._

Well, it wasn’t sympathetic, but it helped a little bit to know someone else was worrying at least a little over Yuuri. Victor took his little win, then settled back and prepared to wait for an eternity.

~

                It really did feel like an eternity passed before the nurse came over to him and gently touched his shoulder. He was immediately on his feet.

                “How is he? Is he okay? The anesthesia didn’t wear off, did it?” he asked, voice tight. The nurse gave him a gentle smile.

                “Mr. Katsuki is just fine. The surgery went perfectly, and he’s been wheeled to his room to recover. There’s still some time before visiting hours are over if you’d like to s—”

                She couldn’t even finish the sentence before Victor was taking off down the hall. _Ohhh_ , thank whatever God was up there, Yuuri was fine! He was better than fine! His surgery had been perfect and now he could recover and come back to skating and…

                _Oh._

                Victor skidded to a halt as he reached Yuuri’s room, letting out a soft breath as he saw his husband. He was still asleep, and he looked so peaceful and angelic that it almost _hurt._ He took a moment to simply watch him breathe, then stepped in. The nurse—who had used Victor’s distraction to catch up to him—lightly touched his shoulder again.

                “Now, Mr. Katsuki will still be fairly heavily medicated when he comes to. Please try to keep calm and don’t excite him.”

                “Of course,” Victor said breezily, sending her a sunny smile before grabbing a chair and sitting right by Yuuri’s side. Oh, soon he’d have his husband back. That was worth all the gold medals in the world.

                Eventually, Yuuri stirred and blearily opened his eyes. He stared sleepily at Victor for a moment. Then his brows furrowed. Then, all at once, he sat up with a gasp.

                “ヴィクトル・ニキフォロフ!!!”he cried out, loud enough for the entire floor to hear him.

                “Ah, shh, shh. You need to stay—”

               “これは本当に起こっているのでしょうか？私は意味、私がしてきました…ah, sorry, sorry! I just…” Yuuri looked up at Victor with wide, bright eyes. “I’ve been a fan of yours for _so long!_ I can’t believe I’m meeting you!”

               Victor stared at Yuuri for a long moment. The dazed look and sing-songy way Yuuri was speaking definitely told him that he was still _very, very_ heavily medicated. On one hand, he was a little offended that, even in a heavily sedated state, he didn’t remember that Victor was his beloved husband.

               On the other hand…well, he’d never really gotten to see Yuuri as his _fan_ before. He smiled and tilted his head, peeking an eye open to catch Yuuri melt.

               “Well, it looks like today is your lucky day!” he said brightly. “I’d heard Japan’s Best Skater needed some cheering up after a big surgery.”

               Yuuri’s face instantly went slack. “Oh my god, do I have cancer? Is this like Make-a-Wish?”

               “ _No!_ ” The words were out of Victor’s mouth before Yuuri even finished his question. “Your ankle. I had a similar surgery a—”

               “In 2009. And you had a minor surgery for your ACL in 2004. Your whole skating style changed in 2004—you changed the way you pushed yourself forward and your step sequences got neater—but you changed your whole personal after the 2009 surgery. That’s when you cut your hair, too.”

               Victor blinked. Yuuri really _was_ a fan. “Well, you…”

               Yuuri interrupted, gripping the hospital blanket with a wide grin. “But 2010 was my favorite year! Well, second favorite, My _favorite_ was the year you broke the Juniors world record. But 2010 was _amazing!_ It was like nothing happened! And your _music_ choice that year—”

               “ _La Follia_.”

               Yuuri nodded eagerly. “I still listen to that song on repeat when I have a bad day. I don’t even like Classical music but I just see you skating and I…That’s the style I try to get in my skating—I skate, you know! Just like you! When I saw you skate your record-breaker I knew I had to skate too and I’m trying to be as good as you!”

                Victor couldn’t help the small smile curling on his lips as the words spilled out of Yuuri. Any early thoughts of being offended had long since been swept away; he could bask in this adoration _forever._

                Though, now that he thought about it, maybe it was for the best he’d found Yuuri when he did. Between the blind adoration and Victor’s nasty habit of putting up walls, their relationship could have ended in disaster. He would have taken poor Yuuri’s adoration for all it was worth and then—

                Victor’s thoughts abruptly stopped as Yuuri leaned toward him, pushing his bangs out of his face with a wide, awestruck look.

                “You’re so much more beautiful up close than you are in the magazines.”

                All thoughts of potential disasters were immediately erased from Victor’s mind, replaced by the brightness that came from the bluntness of Yuuri’s compliment. He gave a bright smile.

                “You really think so? Most people are a little disappointed.”

                Yuuri shook his head solemnly. “You look so much happier.” He gave a big smile as he awkwardly fell back against the pillows. Victor melted.

                “I am. I’m much, much happier.” His smile grew sly, and he leaned forward as he lowered his voice, “Do you want to know why?”

                Yuuri’s face was immediately serious. He wet his lips before nodding.

                “It’s because I married Japan’s Top Skater, Katsuki Yuuri.”

                Yuuri, brain obviously still lagging, stared at Victor for a few more moments, still trying to process what he said. Then, all at once, his eyes went wide, and he sat up straight in the bed.

                “ _We’re married?!_ ”

                The cry was loud enough that several nurses came in. The one who had brought Victor in huffed.

                “I told you not to excite him, Mr. Nikiforov!” she scolded as she walked in. “God, just look at his pulse.” She frowned back at Victor. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Nikiforov.”

                “Nonononono!! He’s Victor Nikiforov! He’s my husband!” Yuuri slurred out, ignoring the nurse trying to get him to lay back. “I’m married to _Victor Nikiforov!!_ ”

                Despite the sheer joy on Yuuri’s face, Victor knew he probably _should_ leave after causing such a scene. Even so, he took one of Yuuri’s hands and lightly kissed his knuckles.

                “Don’t worry. You’ll see me every day for the rest of our lives, my love,” he murmured, then gave Yuuri a little wink. “I’ll be back soon, 図書館.”

      He finally drew away, savoring his last look at his husband as Yuuri tugged down a nurse to excitedly whisper, “Did you hear that? I’m Victor Nikiforov’s _library._ ”

~

                After a quick tweet out assuring that Yuuri was perfectly fine after his surgery, he got several texts of support and relief from just about everyone he knew (and several people he didn’t.)

                - _So glad the surgery went well! Have him call us when he’s out, Vicchan,_ from Hiroko.

                - _I told you you were being an idiot,_ from Yakov.

                - _I’ll light a candle for your loss_ , from Chris.

                (- _What loss?_ Victor texted back.

                 - _You’re losing three weeks of Katsuki Yuuri’s perfect ass. That’s the real tragedy here_ , Chris replied, earning an eyeroll from Victor.

 _-Next time I see you,_ рыбка, _we’re having sensitivity training._

_-Sounds fun. ;)_

_-ARRETEZ-VOUS.)_

_-when he wakes up tell him i’m still gonna kick him for being stupid enough to break his ankle_ , said a very heartwarming text from Yurio.

                  And finally, a very happy _Yay! It went well! \\(^o^)/_ , from Phichit. It was followed shortly by another text.

                  - _Did he give you the ‘I love Victor Nikiforov’ speech?_

                  Victor blinked.

                - _The what?_

_-Oops, wasn’t supposed to tell you. Just don’t tell him I did. But whenever he got drunk at uni, he’d tell literally anyone who’d listen all about you. Figured I’d see if he did the same while drugged up._

_-He really did that?_

_-I can’t confirm or deny. But yeah, basically. Keep me updated on how he’s doing! <3_

Victor blinked at the text, then pressed a hand over his heart. _Ohhh_ , his darling library. He was an encyclopedia of Victor Nikforov. Was it narcissistic to like that part of his husband?

               Oh, Victor didn’t care. In these trying times of waiting, he could at least bask in the comfort that his husband—even in his least lucid state—loved him enough to learn everything about him. He could only hope he could get to that same level of knowledge about Katsuki Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be Victor reassuring Yuuri about his surgery, but drugged fanboy Yuuri was so much more fun.


	5. The Break - Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scar Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a little late because instead of A Day, it's turned into A Weekend. I'll be getting back on track this week!

                Relatively speaking, Yuuri’s recovery was going along quite quickly. He’d still have to skip this season, yes, but he’d be more than ready by the time next season rolled around. But, to both Victor and Yuuri, it felt like his ankle was taking _forever_ to heal. Yuuri wasn’t complaining—when did he ever complain?—but Victor could see the frustration in his husband’s face every time he had to grab his crutches or ask Victor to do something for him. Meanwhile, there was nothing Victor wanted more than to gather his husband in his arms, do a little _celebrating_ for such a wonderful recovery, and get Yuuri’s mind off the massive cast on his leg.

                But, of course, the massive cast on his leg kept him from doing that.

                So they had to content themselves with little moments, where Victor got to be as close as he could to his husband and Yuuri could forget his injury for a little while. Movies tended to work fairly well for that, with both of them either cuddled up or sprawled out on their sofa and making little comments here or there to remind the other that they were there.

                Today was a sprawled out day, where they gave each other the lightest brushes here and there until Yuuri—with a little effort—pulled Victor’s legs into his lap. His fingers lightly drifted over his husband’s ankles, etching soft lines against his pale skin. Though Victor melted at the touch—like he always did—it wasn’t all that unusual; since their engagement, both sides had taken to just _touching_ whatever body part was closest. Victor did it to remind himself that he was lucky enough to have found the most wonderful, beautiful skater, and even luckier still that he had him for the rest of his life. Yuuri, from what he’d heard, did it for the exact same reason.

                As Yuuri’s fingers drifted very lightly over the scar on Victor’s ankle, he murmured, “I cried all night when it happened.”

                “Hm?” Victor perked up, looking at his husband curiously.

                “Your fall. In 2009. The article I read said you’d probably never skate again.” He gave a soft laugh as he retraced the scar. “My roommate thought someone back home had died, I was crying so hard. But I couldn’t stand the thought of you not skating. I mean, obviously I didn’t know you then, but…the Victor I imagined wouldn’t be able to live if he couldn’t skate.”

                Victor watched Yuuri curiously. “You imagined me pretty accurately.”

                Yuuri gave a soft laugh. “No, I didn’t.” He lifted Victor’s leg, pressing soft kisses along the scar. “The _real_ Victor Nikiforov wouldn’t let an injury stop him from doing what he loved. He overcame it.” He smiled against Victor’s skin. “That’s why your 2010 season was my favorite. It was proof that you could do everything you could to keep doing what you loved.” He gave the scar one last kiss, then gently set Victor’s leg back down. “So, in a weird, kind of sick way, I’m glad I broke my ankle the way I did. I mean, it’s frustrating, and I can’t _stand_ not being able to skate this year. But if you can come back after a fall like that, then that means I can, too.” He looked up at Victor with bright eyes, only to gape as he saw his husband’s eyes misted over. “O-oh, my god, what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

                Victor blinked a few times, then quickly pulled Yuuri into a kiss. Yuuri had a moment of surprise—he always seemed to, even after all this time, and Victor loved him all the more for it—before leaning into it. Finally, Victor pulled back with a laugh. “You have a trick of saying everything just right, Золотце,” he said, looking down at Yuuri warmly. “But you’re absolutely right. You’ll do great things once this ankle’s healed up.” He sent Yuuri a sunny grin, heart warming as Yuuri automatically returned it. “In fact, I expect no less than _six_ consecutive gold medals.”

                Yuuri laughed. “Let’s just get me skating again first.” He leaned against Victor, smiling as his husband wrapped himself around him.

                “Deal,” Victor hummed, pressing his cheek to Yuuri’s hair. After a long moment, though, he murmured, “That was your second favorite.”

                “Hm?”

                “Your second favorite season. You told me all about it at the hospital.”

                “ _What._ ”

                “Phichit mentioned you had made drunken ‘I love Victor Nikiforov’ speeches at university, and apparently that holds true with medication, too. I mean I certainly don’t mind, and if you ever want to have a _sober_ time talking about…” Victor glanced down at Yuuri. His face had transformed into the cold, intense look only reserved for competitions. “…Yuuri?”

                “When my ankle’s better, I’m _swimming_ straight to Thailand and killing Phichit.”


	6. Old Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Making fun of each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying out romanization of their respective languages for the hell of it. Not sure if it makes it easier to read or not.

                All right.

                Enough.

                It was time for this “old man” nonsense to stop.

                Of course, it wasn’t _mean._ Yuuri _could_ be mean when he wanted to be—it was very rare, but it happened—but this was just harmless teasing, always immediately assuaged by “Oh, Vitya, thirty isn’t _that_ old” and soft kisses or hard kisses or being-pulled-down-on-the-sofa-to-do-unspeakable-things-on-the-sofa (Victor was fond of all of them, but the last one was his favorite).

                But even so! His husband, light of his life that he was, should be _sympathetic_ when he heard Victor complain about being thirty. He shouldn’t combat it with, “Should I get a walker for you, _ojiichan_?” or “I’ll give the senior center a call and see if they have any specials for five-time Worlds gold medalists.” Yuuri wasn’t _Yurio_ ; he had no right to treat Victor this way!

                So Victor plotted his revenge.

                It was a long time coming, more because Victor couldn’t find _what_ to tease Yuuri about. He couldn’t tease him about his off-season body, because he adored how soft and cuddly his husband became for those few months. He couldn’t tease him about how bad his eyesight was, because _goddamn have you seen Katsuki Yuuri without his glasses_? Hell, have you seen Katsuki Yuuri _with_ his glasses? There was no winning there.

                (Also, his eyes weren’t even as bad as he pretended they were; he got around just fine without them save for a little squinting. During one post-World’s bender, Victor had tried to wear Chris’ glasses all night and threw up an hour after putting them on. But that’s another story.)

                Victor couldn’t even tease Yuuri about what a sloppy drunk he was, because 1) Victor had a reputation of losing his clothes when he got drunk, and 2) if Yuuri hadn’t been such a sloppy drunk, they wouldn’t currently be married.

                So he had to _plot_. He had to be sneaky and find his moment.

                And, finally, find it he did.

                One of Victor’s chief joys in life was burying his face in Yuuri’s hair whenever they spooned. It was thick, it was soft, and it always smelled _wonderful_ , even after a long day of skating. And today, during his obligatory cheek-pressing and nuzzling, he found it gave him an _in._ He didn’t waste a moment.

                “ _Ite!_ ” Yuuri pulled back, rubbing his head with a frown. “What was that for?”

                Victor merely smirked as he held up the single silver hair he’d plucked from his husband’s head. “Good morning, _dedushka._ Looks like you’re getting up there in years.”

                Yuuri looked up at him for a moment, then reached up and pulled out one of Victor’s hairs. Once Victor was done wincing, he held up the strand, nearly identical to the one in Victor’s hand.

                “Oh, look, now we can match.”

                Victor blinked as Yuuri laughed and cuddled back up to him, then set his mouth in a hard line as he rested his chin on top of Yuuri’s head.

                _Damn_ , he was good.

               


	7. Rest in Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the death of someone close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Work has literally eaten me for the past week, and I've had no time to write at all. Hopefully I'll be able to stay awake long enough to catch up tonight, but if not, you'll get a bunch of updates on Sunday.

                The letter for Victor had come in elegant black stationary—which didn’t mean anything on its own, considering that Victor regularly sent letters in gold embossed envelopes. But his reaction had been like nothing Yuuri had seen from him. After reading a few lines, he pressed a hand to his mouth, blue eyes misting over. Bad news of some sort, then. Yuuri immediately wrapped his arms around his husband, silently comforting him. He glanced up at the letter, brow furrowing. Well, it looked like…French? If it was, then it had to be something to do with…

                “We need to go to Switzerland,” Victor said once he’d composed himself. “Chris…Chris _needs_ me.”

                Yuuri nodded, glancing at the letter again and picking out the word “morte”. That meant death, right? Yuri squeezed his husband tighter. “Vicchan, I’m so sorry. I—”

                Victor shook his head. “No, no. It was…it was for the best. He was in pain.” He took a deep breath, then pulled away from Yuuri. “I’ll get the tickets right now. We need to be over there as soon as possible.”

                And so, less than 24 hours later, they were in Lausanne. Victor had spent the trip uncharacteristically quiet, gripping Yuuri’s hand the entire flight and texting the moment they landed. Soon enough, they were standing in front of a small chapel, dressed in crisp black suits. Victor looked at his phone anxiously.

                “He’d said he’d be—” He was cut off as he was nearly tackled in a hug.

                “ _Vitya._ Спасибо что пришли.”

                “Oh _,_ рыбка. Tu sais que c’était le meilleur moment.”

          They gripped each other, yammering out in a strange mix of Russian and French. Yuuri tried hard to not look like he was trying to eavesdrop. He was here for his husband, of course, and he wanted to support him through an obviously difficult time. But…what were they even here for? A memorial, it looked like, but for who? Maybe it was an old rinkmate—but Chris and Victor hadn’t ever shared a rink (Yuuri knew where Victor had trained since he was 12, so he would know.) Maybe a shared coach? (Ah, but it had only been Yakov since before Chris’ junior debut. He would know.) A mutual friend? That was possible, he supposed, but some sort of indication would have been helpful. Victor had been nearly silent until he’d seen Chris, but there was too much French for him to be able to understand what they were saying.

                “Ah, Yuuri, thanks for coming.”

                Yuuri jumped as his subtle(?) eavesdropping was interrupted, and he looked up. Ah, Chris’ boyfriend. He had a Japanese name, he knew. What was it? Manaki? Mamoru? No…

                “Masumi, hi! Nice to see you. Um, I mean…I’m sorry for…” He looked down, trying to find the right thing to say, and caught a glimpse of rose-gold on his ring finger. “Ah! Congratulations!”

                Masumi gave him a smile. “Ah, thanks. We were going to announce it, but then…well, this happened.” He glanced up at Chris and Victor, then added quietly, “Though I can’t figure out who it was who died. I haven’t wanted to ask—fiancés are just supposed to know these things, right? And I was hoping I’d hear him talk to Victor about it, but there’s too much Russian for me to understand.”

                Yuuri half-smiled. “I tried to read the letter Chris sent, but it was all in French. Maybe if we both listen, we could…” He was cut off as a hand suddenly gripped his. He looked up at Victor, then glanced at Chris as he slipped his arm through Masumi’s.

                “It’s time,” Chris said, holding his head high before leading the way in.

                The chapel was small and dimly lit, most of the light coming from the candles lit around the altar. Chris and Victor guided their respective partners to sit, both looking very serious. Yuuri chanced a glance around. There…was no one else here.

                “Is it just…?” he started, but was interrupted by Chris waving at Victor and pleading, “Vitya, _s’il te plait.”_

Victor nodded, then got up to stand at the podium beside the altar. He cleared his throat, then looked to Chris. “ _Est-ce l’Anglais d’accord? Pour Yuuri.”_

                Chris nodded, pulling a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat. Victor nodded, kneeling his head for a long moment before he looked up.

                “Today, we say goodbye to a dear friend. One whose presence was a calming reminder of liberation and self-love, one who we thought would be here forever. But our loss is his gain. He was unhappy. He wasn’t himself. So we send off a man, just out of his prime, to bigger and better things.” Victor shut his eyes, then pulled a picture frame from the podium and set it on the altar. The photo inside was of a barely, _barely_ decent Chris, sending a flirty wink at the camera. “So rest in peace, Single Chris.”

                “ _Single Chris?!_ ”

                It was all Yuuri could do to stay in his seat, and it looked as though Masumi was having the same problem. Masumi turned to his fiancé.

                “You’re having a funeral for your _bachelorhood_?”

                Chris dabbed at his eyes. “Of course. Victor and I agreed that it’d be a great tragedy if we ever became honest men, so we figured it was only fair to give our single selves a proper send-off.”

                “I gave my bachelorhood a Viking funeral,” Victor said with a little smile. “We almost burned the hotel down.”

                Yuuri blinked several times. “How…how did I not know about this?”

                “Well, I wanted to invite you, 図書館, but you had the final the next day and I wanted you to rest,” Victor hummed. “And poor Masumi’s flight got delayed.”

                “I wish we’d taken pictures,” Chris sighed. “My subtle taste in funerals doesn’t photograph nearly as well as a boat on fire.”

                “I think I might have taken a video. We’ll see at the reception.”

                Yuuri blinked, then glanced at Masumi. Two years of being married to Victor had prepared him for weird things like this, but was he ready to commit to this sort of life?

                Masumi sat still for a moment, then let out a loud laugh. He shook his head and wrapped his arm around his fiancé. “You’re right. After your track record, I think Single Chris needs a proper send-off.”

                Yuuri relaxed, then sent a smile up at Victor as he continued his eulogy for Chris’ bachelorhood. He’d have to ask for that video, though. If this was how _Chris_ said goodbye to bachelorhood, then what had Victor’s Viking funeral been like?

                 


	8. No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sleeping in

                Victor _adored_ mornings. The crisp, fresh air, the pale light of the just-rising sun, the strangely comforting loneliness that came from feeling that he was the only one awake in the entire world; _everything_ about mornings made his heart sing. He was a born-early riser (literally, actually; he was born at 5 am) and only the heaviest nights of partying kept him in bed past six.

                So, of course, he’d fallen in love with Japan’s latest riser.

                All right, that might be an exaggeration, but Yuuri’s peak sleep seemed to be from 2 to 10 am! There were several times in the off-season that Victor would slip out for his morning jog with Makka and be back before Yuuri even woke up; once or twice, he’d even woken up just as Yuuri was going to sleep. For the first few weeks they lived together, it was _madness_.

                But a few years had passed since those first few weeks, and now either one could slip in or out of bed with hardly any issue. So Victor was understandably surprised when, as he was getting up, an arm wrapped around his waist and held him tightly.

                “No.”

                Victor looked down; it looked like Yuuri was still asleep. Was he sleeptalking? He shook his head and tried to pull up the arm, but it just tightened its hold.

                “No.”

                So Yuuri _wasn’t_ asleep. Victor wrapped his hand around his husband’s wrist.

“Золотце, Makka needs her…”

                “No.”

                Victor looked over at Makkachin, who was still happily curled at the foot of the bed and didn’t look as though she would help his case. He sighed.

                “Well, then, _I_ need to…”

                “No.”

                “You know, my season starts just a…”

                “No.”

                “If I’m not in top form, I’ll…”

                “No.”

                “I don’t even like staying in—”

                “ _No._ ”

                Victor looked down at Yuuri with a huff. How could he look so peaceful while maintaining such a death grip on Victor’s waist? He half-smiled.

                “You’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?”

                Finally, a small smile flicked at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, ruining his play-sleeping. “No.”

                Victor sighed, cuddling back against his husband. “Then I guess I have no choice but to stay here for a little while longer.” He grinned. “You know, you could join me for my morning ru—”

                “ _No._ ”

               

 


	9. Pillow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Watching the other sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going out of order on the prompt list, for anyone wondering. One because there's a nice duality in having a sleeping chapter from Victor's POV and one from Yuuri's POV, and also because I miss writing anxious wreck Katsuki Yuuri.

                Seeing Victor sleep was, by far, the strangest part of getting to know Victor Nikiforov. Up until he more or less passed out at the table at the onsen, Yuuri hadn’t even _imagined_ that Victor could sleep. Because why would he? The Victor he’d “known” had only been what he’d seen on television or in magazines combined with what he imagined. His imagined Victor would be captivated by Yuuri the first time he set his eyes on him; the real Victor hadn’t even known that Yuuri was competing against him.

                So seeing Victor do normal-people things like sleep was bizarre. And, while Victor was getting over his jet lag, Yuuri had the chance to see it several times—at the table, at Ice Castle Hasetsu, and even once in one of the hot springs (and he should be given a gold medal simply for being able to help a _very naked_ Victor Nikiforov out without having a heart attack). Yuuri continuously found himself wanting to watch him—just to reassure himself that Victor Nikiforov, five time World Champion Ice Skater, was really a human being—but always stopped himself because _what the hell, that was weird and creepy._

                But then the unthinkable happened.

                Victor fell asleep _on_ him.

                It was just after he showed him the track for his free skate. Victor had insisted on listening to it again and, when Yuuri had offered to leave his laptop, he’d insisted, “No, you need to be here. I can’t choreograph if you’re not.”

                Considering how well Eros had turned out, Yuuri definitely wasn’t going to hinder Victor’s creative process. So he put the track on repeat and sat quietly as Victor thought. He tried not to stare, but it was _very_ hard—partially because Victor seemed to have a habit of _not wearing clothes_ , but mostly because watching him think was _fascinating._ The way he squinted, the way his mouth tugged down and his cheek pulled up, the way his teeth very lightly dug into his lower lip and—

                God, Yuuri really was still a desperate fanboy.

                To keep from outright staring at his coach in a way that _was absolutely not professional_ , Yuuri turned his attention to Makkachin, quietly apologizing for stepping on her tail and scratching her ears just the way she liked. After a brief moment of deliberation, she got up and threw herself down on Yuuri’s lap as if she were Vicchan’s size instead of sixty pounds of dog. She immediately fell asleep.

                So it looked like Yuuri was stuck.

                He looked down at the dog with a little smile, then leaned back against the headboard to wait until she moved. Really, there were a lot worse ways to be trapped than a warm dog sleeping on your lap. And any moment now Victor would probably tell him that he’d planned everything and politely ask him to leave because why would Victor want his student to stay in bed with him and Yuuri would politely leave and pretend he hadn’t been creepily watching his coach because why would a student do that and…

                Something lightly rested against Yuuri’s shoulder, and he immediately stiffened.

                Because this wasn’t happening.

                There was no way this could be happening.

                There was _no possible way_ that _Victor Nikiforov_ , five-time World Champion Ice Skater, had just _fallen asleep against Japan’s Most Disappointing Skater Katsuki Yuuri’s shoulder._

                Yuuri couldn’t move. He literally couldn’t move; Makkachin was still cuddled up on top of his legs. The slightest attempt to remove himself from this situation would wake _both_ of them up. So, for five long minutes, he merely stared straight ahead, sitting as still as a statue.

                But _damn it_ , Yuuri was only human. He couldn’t miss an opportunity like this. So, moving his head very carefully so as not to disturb Victor’s sleep and repeatedly calling himself a creepy weirdo, he took his chance to watch Victor Nikiforov sleep.

                _God_ , it wasn’t _fair_ how beautiful this man was. His silvery lashes just barely brushed against his smooth cheek, his lips were ever-so-slightly parted…was that the lightest dusting of _freckles_ on his nose? Yuuri stiffened as Victor moved his head, only to promptly melt as he felt the soft brush of his hair against his neck.

                _Ohhh_ , he could die right now and be the happiest man on earth.

                But then Victor moved again. And then there was the soft, “Yuuri?” And suddenly Yuuri wanted to _literally die right now._

                “Ah, sorry! Sorry. I should have…I-I mean, Makkachin is…I…”

                Was it his imagination, or did Victor stay put for a moment longer than necessary? Definitely his imagination. Yuuri was certain he had the world’s most uncomfortable shoulder. He looked up with creased brows as Victor drew his head up with a sleepy smile that just about made Yuuri’s heart stop.

                “Are you saying you didn’t want to spend the night with me?”

                Yuuri wasn’t sure the noises he made were, strictly speaking, actual words. But he shook his head vehemently, and Victor laughed lightly as he pulled out the earbuds.

                “Ah, what a shame. Here I thought we’d finally have our slumber party,” he said with a little wink before patting the bed to guide Makkachin off Yuuri’s legs. “I think I have an idea of what your Free Skate will look like. We’ll go over it in the morning.” He smiled. “Though if you really want to stay, you’re wel—”

                Yuuri was out the door before he could finish that sentence. _God_ , how embarrassing. Victor had caught him ogling him like the stupid fanboy he was. He shut his door and let out a long breath, hugging his laptop to his chest as he relived what had to be number 5 in his top ten most embarrassing life moments.

                But…even with how it ended…

                There were a lot worse ways to be trapped than having Victor Nikiforov sleep on your shoulder.


	10. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hugging

A surprise fact about Victor Nikiforov: he is _incredibly_ tactile. Once you become so much as a slight acquaintance, he’s immediately very touchy: hands on arms or shoulders, playing with hair, face squishes, hugs. Yakov’s tried to break him of the habit for years—the amount of _gossip_ it’s produced, good _lord_ —but with no luck. The only one who’s come close to _not_ being a victim of Victor’s perpetual touching is Yuri Plisetsky, mostly because he threatens to slice Victor’s hands off with a well-executed quad Salchow whenever he tries.

                A well-known fact about Katsuki Yuuri: aside from when he just barely makes it to the Grand Prix Final, he does his best to avoid touching _anyone_. If Yuuri lived in a world where touching someone would immediately kill you, he would be in _heaven._ Phichit Chulanont reportedly has had one (1) whole non-stressed-out hug with Yuuri, with photographic evidence posted on his Instagram with the caption: “This actually happened!!!!” followed by several shocked-face emojis.

                Another surprise fact about Victor Nikiforov: He loves that Yuuri doesn’t touch anyone.

                Because Victor is inherently a very selfish person, and the last thing he wants is for the world to know that Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s Ace, is also the world’s best hugger. Because then someone else besides himself could be on the receiving end of one of Yuuri’s hugs, and the very _thought_ makes him so jealous he needs to go for a run.

                (He ran around the entire circumference of Hasetsu in roughly ten minutes when Emil tweeted about Yuuri’s post-Rostelecom hug fest after assuring Mama Hiroko and Papa Toshiya that he was _fine_ through clenched teeth.)

                But it’s more than the fact that Yuuri gives spectacular hugs. With something so rare, Victor can’t help but feel special every time Yuuri deems him worthy enough to give up his personal space for.

And it comes from _such_ a different place than Victor’s touches. Victor _needs_ to touch, to get that extra confirmation that the people he loves are still there, still close, and still _like_ him. When he hugs Yuuri, there’s always a very, very faint note of desperation. _Don’t leave me_ , his hugs say, even if it’s very, very quietly.

                Yuuri’s hugs don’t have that. When he wraps his arms around Victor, there’s incredulity, maybe. Doubt, possibly. But never desperation. Because even if he can’t always believe it, Yuuri hugs Victor because he _knows_ that Victor is his. _You’re here_ , his hugs always say, steady and warm and so, _so_ in love.

                So can you really blame Victor for not wanting to share?

                   


	11. Doodles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Drawing each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FINALLY CAUGHT UP, ENJOY.

                It started off innocently enough. On his daily note letting Yuuri know that he’d gone for a run, Victor had drawn a little doodle of a sleeping Yuuri. Later, when he left to get groceries, Yuuri left a note with a doodle of a running Victor. Victor responded by leaving a picture of a skating Yuuri on the milk; Yuuri left a doodle of Victor in his festival clothes on one of his skates, and so on and so forth. It was one of those sickeningly cute games newlyweds play.

                But most newlyweds aren’t two of the most competitive men in figure skating. So what began as a cute game quickly became a very serious competition. Soon, doodles of each other littered the apartment. On the bed, on the mirror, in the shower, _everywhere._ But so long as one responded, the other had to put up a new drawing. Falling behind meant _losing._

                And the soon-to-be McWinnerson-Win-Seasons _did. not. LOSE._

                The doodles made their way out of the house, eventually. Yuuri left a doodle of Victor hugging Makkachin on Victor’s water bottle; Victor retaliated with a doodle of Yuuri in his Eros costume in his locker. So now the rink was part of the battleground. The bricks, the seats, the ice, _Yakov’s hat_ —no space was free from being covered with post-its of little pictures of Victor or Yuuri.

                Exactly no one was surprised by how quickly this had escalated. Victor’s rinkmates all knew what he was like, and, despite how quiet he was initially, the past few months had shown that Yuuri wasn’t all that different from his fiancé. And for the most part, they resigned themselves to being drowned in doodles.

                But it was Yuri Plisetsky that decided enough was enough.

                So, upon coming to the rink ready for another round of out-doodling each other, Victor and Yuuri found that every available surface five feet and four inches above the ground was _covered_ in pages of what appeared to be a poorly-drawn Yuri kicking Yuuri and Victor, with poorly drawn blood coming from the where the poorly-drawn skates connected. Beneath every drawing, Yuri had written—in English so it was universally understood—“STOP THIS BULLSHIT OR THIS WILL HAPPEN.”

                For once in their lives, the soon-to-be McWinnerson-Win-Seasons decided on a draw.

               


	12. Lazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lazy Day

                Today was a _perfect_ day.

                The season was over, the move to St. Petersburg was finally done, and Yuuri was ready to do _nothing at all_.

                The morning was lovely. Makkachin had _not_ wanted to go on a run this morning, so she and Yuuri stayed in bed while Victor went out. Yuuri didn’t sleep as late as he wanted to—it was hard to stay asleep with a constant stream of “Come on, Makka! Come on, _lapochka!_ Don’t you want to run with Vitya?” being crooned right next to you—but he got to stay in bed for as long as he’d planned, which was almost as good. The next plan was to drink entirely too much coffee and catch up on shows he’d missed during the season and the move, and that was the entirety of his day.

                _God_ , he needed this.

                He’d just settled on the sofa, blanket and Makkachin spread over his legs and perfectly warm cup of coffee in his hands, and had just opened his laptop when the door burst open.

                “Yuuri! Are you up?”

                Yuuri was suddenly grateful that a) he had gotten plenty of sleep and b) he had spent a majority of his life extensively training himself to control his body, because otherwise his coffee would have sloshed all over Makkachin. He turned to see his fiancé flashing a sunny smile at him; he returned it.

                “Welcome back.” He lifted his head to give Victor a kiss as he walked over to the sofa, but was instead met by a frown.

                “You’re not dressed? It’s almost noon.” Victor’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”

                “Oh, no. I just…”

                “Oh, good! I’ve had today all planned out.” He pulled himself up to sit on the back of the sofa. “You haven’t really gotten the chance to see the city yet! So I figured we could go to the Winter Palace—that’s where the old emperors used to live!—and maybe see if we can see something at the Mariinsky Theatre—the first time I went I cried, so I’m sure you’ll love it—and there’s the most _wonderful_ restaurant that I’ve kept meaning to take you to and—”

                “Uh, Victor, I…”

                “Ah! And the Kazan Cathedral! I know neither of us are Orthodox but just _seeing_ the architecture makes me—”

                “Victor, I really—”

                “—want to cry and it might be interesting to see a service, we don’t have to do anything. Oh, but there’s also Palace Square and we’d want to see that before it got dark and OH! I wasn’t even thinking of the night life but the _clubs_ you can find here. One actually has a drink named the—”

                “ _Victor Nikiforov!_ ” Yuuri finally burst out.

                Makkachin, Victor, and even Yuuri himself looked surprised at his shout. He swallowed, then adjusted his glasses.

                “I…that sounds wonderful. It really does. But…can it wait?”

                Victor blinked, then grinned. “Oh, of course! I was being selfish. You probably already know what you want to see!” He leaned over Yuuri with a smile. “So, my darling, tell me what it is you want to see today.”

                Yuuri glanced at Makkachin, then took a sip of his coffee. “The next season of _Cooking Challenge._ ”

                Victor blinked once, then twice. “The…what?”

                Yuuri nodded to his laptop. “I was gonna watch the season today.”

                “The whole season? In one sitting?”

                “Y…es?”

                “You _want_ to do that? That sounds like torture.”

                Yuuri gave a small laugh. “Well, sometimes you need a lazy day. Especially after everything we’ve been doing over the past few months.” He glanced up at Victor. “I mean, if it’ll bother you…”

                “No! No, nothing you do could bother me.” Yuuri didn’t miss the way Victor’s smile stiffened ever so slightly. “In fact, I’ll join you! I can’t remember the last time I did nothing.”

                Yuuri pressed his lips together, but said nothing. Well. Maybe this could be nice; watching _Cooking Challenge_ had always been fun with Phichit, maybe Victor would like it to.

                This was fine.

~

                This was _not fine._

                They were only twenty minutes into the marathon and Victor _would not stop moving._ It was strange: when he was focused—which, apparently, was more often than Yuuri thought—he barely moved, but now he was constantly fidgeting. If he wasn’t drumming his fingers on the sofa arm, he was waggling a foot; if he wasn’t waggling a foot, he was playing with his hair; if he wasn’t playing with his hair, he was drumming his fingers on the sofa arm. Makkachin, already quietly irritated with having to budge up to make room for Victor, eventually just got up and left from all the disruption.

                Finally, on the third round of drumming, Yuuri reached over and grabbed his arm.

                “ _Stop._ ”

                Victor looked up. “Stop what?”

                “Stop _fidgeting._ ”

                Victor frowned. “Fidgeting?”

                “Stop moving! If you don’t want to watch, just tell me.”

                “It’s fine,” Victor assured. “If this is something you like doing, then…”

                “That doesn’t mean you have to like it,” Yuuri interrupted. “Look, you know I get stressed. And a lot of times it builds and builds until I need some form of release.” He gestured to his set-up. “This is one of my releases. Yours are probably different. And that’s fine! But if you hate sitting here like this, then you can go.”

                Victor blinked, then gave a little pout. “Are you _dismissing_ me?”

                “No! No, definitely not! I just…I don’t want to _force_ you into having a lazy day if you don’t want to have one.” Yuuri sighed, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry. This is your place and me setting up camp is…”

                “ _Our_ place now.” Victor rested his chin on his hand, now very still as he looked at Yuuri. “And if you want a lazy day, you should have one.” A small smirk turned up his lips. “And maybe I could stop fidigging if—” He was cut off by Yuuri’s snort.

                “ _Fidigging?”_

                “Isn’t that what you said?”

                “It’s _fidgeting._ ”

                Victor gave an over-dramatic puff before tossing a decorative pillow at his fiancé. “Not all of us spent five years in America!” He crossed his arms as Yuuri giggled. “And here I was about to come up with a compromise, if that’s even the right word.”

                “What’s your compromise?”

                “Well, since I wasn’t able to _show_ Russia that I’m engaged to Japan’s Ace, they should be able to _hear_ it.”

                Yuuri let out a yelp of laughter as he tossed the pillow back at Victor. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

                “No? Well, like I said, not all of us have five years of English immersion. But I think I can show you what I mean.”

                The day didn’t end up being _quite_ as lazy as Yuuri intended. But, well, he _did_ manage to find a form of release that both he and Victor shared.

                 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit some writer's block with this one, so it's a bit of a mess of slice of life domesticity. But I got it out!
> 
> Also, if it hasn't been obvious yet, I follow the headcanon that--at the start of their relationship, at least--Yuuri and Victor speak English to each other, and I don't think there's enough fun being had with how dumb a language English is.


	13. The Winged Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: In a Fairy Tale

                Once upon a time, a lovely prince lived in a castle by the sea. He was well-known for his charm and his beauty, but he kept to his castle due to his curse: instead of a left arm, he had a swan’s wing.

                Of course, he was part of a larger tale, one that was well-known throughout the land. The king’s eleven sons had been transformed into swans by their wicked stepmother, and his only daughter, cunning and loyal, was told by the fairy queen that, if she wanted to save her brothers, she must sew eleven shirts from nettles and not breathe a word while she did, lest her brothers die. Despite winning a foreign king’s love, she was nearly burned as a witch by the townspeople for her strange task, and it was only by her brothers’ intervention that she was saved; as each of the eleven swans lit down around her, she threw on the nettle shirts and returned them to their human form—except for the youngest, who, by way of an unfinished sleeve, retained a swan’s wing where his arm would be.

                Many years had passed. The sister was happily married and ruling in her new home, and ten of the brothers had gone to find their fortunes. But the youngest remained, growing more lovely and lonely with each passing year.

                Rumors began to spread as the years passed and the facts of the whole ordeal grew hazy. Many began to whisper that the prince’s arm was a by-product of the curse, brought on by himself rather than his wicked stepmother. Some said his heart was frozen solid; others said that there was something inhuman in him that must be broken for him to return to normal. Regardless, the general consensus was that someone _must_ find their way to win the prince’s love in order to break the curse.

                When he was young, the prince was utterly enthralled by the attention. So many people who wanted to love him! He would go to town and, much to the dismay of his father and the royal advisor, make a display of himself, tilting his head to let his long silver hair spill against the snow-white feathers, raising his outstretched wing like an angel about to take flight. Then the adoration would come: the compliments, the soft words that made his heart swell and tender glances that made him melt. All too readily, he gave himself to those that adored him, craving the love and attention they poured onto him.

                But all too soon, he realized that the love was shallow. They didn’t love him, not really; they wanted to break his curse and gain the fortune and fame that came from being a hero. He was merely a prize to be won. So the prince’s heart _did_ freeze over, until finally he shut himself away, far from the crowds who only loved what he could give.

                But word spread through the land, and he received many visitors, sitting cool and beautiful on his throne, silver hair cut short and his wing tucked tightly against his side. Many tried to melt his heart, but none could. Like his sister so many years ago, whispers began to spread that he wasn’t human at all; he was a fairy, a changeling who was the true child of the wicked stepmother. If he weren’t the prince, he likely would have been taken to the stake as well. Visitors stopped coming to see him.

                Until one day, a traveler came through the kingdom.

                He was from a faraway land, which prompted distrust amongst the people in the town. He would not say where he was from, or why he had left, only that he was weary and needed to find a place to sleep. The inn turned him away, and the townsfolk wouldn’t have a stranger under their roofs. As luck would have it, the royal stablemaster saw him turned away from the last house in the village, and he offered to let the traveler stay in the king’s stables. After all, they were well-guarded; if he tried anything fishy, it would be stopped immediately. Too tired to argue, the traveler agreed, and soon enough, he was nestled in a bundle of straw and fast asleep.

                However, he was woken in the middle of the night by the fluttering of feathers. He roused himself, absently brushing the straw from his dark hair, and jumped in surprise as the prince—hair and wing glinting in the moonlight—smiled at him.

                “Another fortune-seeker come to woo the cursed prince?” he asked, the slightest sting of ice in his words. “It’s been a while since someone’s dared to come to my home.” His wing stretched and flapped once as he fixed cold blue eyes on the traveler’s dark ones. “Is there a name you go by? It doesn’t have to be your real one; most are scared to give that to changelings.”

                The traveler blinked several times, clearly caught off-guard by the prince’s rapid-fire questioning. For the first time, his eyes flicked down to the prince’s wing before going back to his face.

                “I…didn’t realize I’d found _your_ kingdom, Prince Victor.” He scrambled up to his feet and bowed. “I-I’ve heard so much about you! About the nettle shirts and the curse and how people have tried to break it. Bu-but I already know I can’t.”

                The prince blinked, surprised at the traveler’s frankness. “You don’t think you could win my love?”

                To his surprise, he caught the slightest flush in the traveler’s cheeks in the moonlight. “Oh, no. I’m…I’m no one. Really, I should be out seeking my fortune, but I just…I know I won’t be able to find it. And if I can’t do that, then how could I possibly be anything of note to someone like the winged prince?”

                The prince’s expression, so long held in icy seriousness, melted into something much softer as he listened to the traveler. “That hasn’t stopped anyone yet. You could still try.”

                The traveler shook his head, turning his gaze to the ground. “No, I can’t break the curse. It’s already been broken.” He looked up and, at the prince’s incredulous expression, he added, “I’ve…seen a lot of magic while trying to find my fortune. Curses can only be broken once, even if it’s not complete. That wing is as much a part of you as your arm is.” He looked away, then added softly, “I’ve always thought it was beautiful, even when I first heard about it. I can’t believe anyone would want to take that from you.”

                A curious thing happened to the prince when the traveler said those words: for the first time in many years, his heart thawed and melted in his chest. Tears gathered on his silver lashes, and before the traveler could say another word, he spread his wing toward him, carefully wrapping it around them to make a curtain of snow-white feathers.

                “You’re the first to understand,” he whispered, voice weak and desperate. “What do you want? Land? Wealth? Me? Anything you desire, traveler, I’ll give to you.”

                The traveler blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached up to lightly cup the prince’s face.

                “Yuuri.”

                The prince blinked. “What?”

                “Yuuri. That’s my name. And…and I want you to come with me.” He gave the prince a warm smile. “I want us to find our fortunes together, Victor.”

                The prince stared at the traveler for a moment, tears leaking down his cheeks, and he let out an incredulous laugh after a moment.

                “Very well, Yuuri. Then come morning, we will be off to find our fortune.”

                And so, with hearts warmed and spirits renewed, two travelers, Victor and Yuuri, set off from the kingdom to find their fortunes. And while here were great threats, greater rewards, and unimaginable adventure off on the horizon, the greatest fortune had already been found: both by the traveling hero and the captive prince alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Can you tell how much I'm in love with fairy tales.
> 
> *"The Wild Swans" is what this fic's based on, and while I'm definitely not the first to write something about the youngest brother, swan-winged Victor is something I haven't been able to get out of my head for MONTHS now (mumble mumble sacrificing something human for something beautiful mumble inhumanity rendering him cold mumble mumble), so now you all are finally getting it.
> 
> *While this is a very Victor-centric story, I was imagining Yuuri had already had his adventure, and that it was something like another Hans Christian Andersen story: [The Traveling Companion.](http://hca.gilead.org.il/travelng.html) (It's a little creepy yet cheerful and it's one of my absolute favorites.) Idk who the Traveling Companion would be--Phichit??--but it actually could blend into what I've written. Wouldn't that be fun for a full-length fairy tale AU?
> 
> ~~To any artists reading this, plz consider swan-wing Victor, my heart needs more~~


	14. Skating Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Geeking Out

                “Are you _sure_ it’s in here?” Yuuri asked, reaching blindly into the back of the closet.

                “Of course! Where else would I keep emergency boot polish?” Victor called from the next room. “I have a whole kit in there, don’t worry.”

                Yuuri puffed as he resumed his digging, fighting off a sneeze as he felt around for some sort of case. He really should have bought some polish himself, but the ice show was _tomorrow_ and there was too little time. Even old polish should be better than showing off scuffed up boots, right?

                He let out a breath of relief as his fingers brushed against an old, metal box. That must be it. He pulled it out with a small smile, sitting on the ground as he opened it up.

                Instead of boot polish, he was instead greeted by several Stéphane Lambiels.

Specialty prints, carefully-clipped magazine articles, some photos snapped on the ice—oh, _lord_ , here was one of a particularly young Victor giving a huge smile as he got a photo with Stéphane. On one hand, Yuuri really ought to shut the box and continue looking for the polish; he needed that, and he really should respect his fiancé’s privacy. But…as a former (?) fanboy himself…

                “Vitya, what’s this?” Yuuri called as innocently as he could. He worked to keep his face in check as he listened to Victor gently get Makkachin off of him and walk over.

                “If it’s the black case, that’s the one you’re looking fo—” Victor trailed off as he registered the photos and clippings Yuuri was holding. Yuuri gave him a teasing smile as he held up the photo of Stéphane and Victor.

                “Should I be worried?”

                Seeing Victor blush was something Yuuri knew he’d never get tired of. It started at his nose, and then slowly spread over his cheekbones and up to the very tips of his ears. It was something he’d only managed a few times in his life—far fewer than the times Victor had made _him_ blush—but this was, by far, the _reddest_ he’d ever seen a sober Victor Nikiforov. He spluttered out something in Russian before he shook his head and managed an embarrassed laugh.

                “Do I still have those? I thought they got tossed during the move. We can…I mean, I don’t want you to think…Stéphane is a _very_ accomplished skater and I…I mean, it’s…”

                “He’s really cute, isn’t he?” Yuuri interrupted with a smile.

                Victor shut his mouth, looking for a brief moment like he was about to explode. Then his lips parted and the floodgates opened.

                “He’s beautiful but _god,_ have you seen his step sequences? And his _spins_? Clockwise and counter-clockwise! I don’t know how he does it so easily, I still have trouble with it when I try. And he designed his own costumes! I started doing the same when I read about that and…” He snapped his mouth shut, blush deepening again. “Uh, but…obviously that was when I was younger, and I didn’t want you to think that I…”

                “That you have a skating crush?” Yuuri finished, then got to his feet and draped his arms over his husband’s shoulders. “You know, it’s really not fair…”

                Victor swallowed. “I-I can toss them out, if you—”

                “…that my skating crush ended up as my fiancé,” Yuuri finished with a grin.

                Victor blinked. “You’re…not upset?”

                Yuuri let out a burst of laughter. “Victor, my room was a _shrine_ to you. You think I don’t know what it’s like to be a fanboy?” He gave his fiancé a sweet kiss. “And anyway, it’s not my fault you didn’t realize that the way to your skate crush’s heart is three bottles of champagne and a pole dance.”

                A smile finally broke out on Victor’s face. “I think you’re the only one who could pull that off, _zolotse._ ”

                “Lucky me, then,” Yuuri said with a grin, pressing his forehead to Victor’s. “Though you must have been dying during that interview with him.”

                “Yuuri, I was _shaking._ They just threw it at me and I had to pretend I _didn’t_ know everything about him.”

                “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

                “It was _impossible!_ ”

                Yuuri laughed. “Believe me, I know. At least he wasn’t naked when you were trying to keep yourself together.” He pulled back to pat his fiancé’s cheek. “Listen, I’m going to go get some polish and a frame for that photo of you two. When I come back, why don’t we watch a few of his videos? It’s nice seeing _you_ be the fanboy for a change.”

                Victor’s eyes lit up. “I’ll have a whole _playlist_ by the time you come back. You won’t believe it; he’s like _magic_ on the ice.”

                Yuuri grinned as he leaned in to kiss Victor’s cheek. “I think my skating crush might be a _bit_ more magical, but we’ll see, Vitya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The minute Yuuri comes home they watch [this routine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6rw5svR5PA) and Victor swoons the whole time.
> 
> *Not mentioned: the years Victor spent _begging_ Chris to get him an in with Stéphane.  
>  -"Vitya, I don't even know him."  
> -"YOU'RE BOTH SWISS, YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM SOMEWHERE."


	15. Nothing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Teaching Each Other Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A companion to chapter 12 - Lazy

                Even before Yuuri had known Victor personally, he was well-aware that whenever Victor Nikiforov did _anything_ , it was flashy and big and extravagant. His performances were that way, of course, and the life he documented—via interviews and his social media—was just as big and bright and spectacular—full of parties and exotic trips and the most _amazing_ food. And yet, Yuuri had always figured that this was a show for the public. The Victor he imagined stocked this photos up to share to create the illusion of extravagance; there was no way Victor could do this sort of thing _every day._

                He was _extraordinarily surprised_ to find out that he was wrong.

                Well, to an extent. Between training and coaching and the press junket, there was no way Victor could jet off to the Caribbean or even go party every night. But he _did_ have a certain “live life to the fullest” attitude, in addition to having a complete aversion to doing nothing. The first month they lived together, he spent every day pulling Yuuri around to _every_ sightseeing spot in St. Petersburg. The second month, he dragged Yuuri to party after party to get him introduced to the locals.

                It was utter madness.

                And the worst part was, this was all while Victor was training for Worlds, coaching Yuuri for Worlds, and having interview after interview about Worlds. And it was abundantly clear to Yuuri that his fiancé needed a break. So that weekend, he very tentatively brought it up. Victor’s head immediately fell back.

                “You’re right,” he said, tilting his head to look at Yuuri. “Who thought a surprise comeback would take so much energy?” He immediately sat up, eyes bright. “We should go to the onsen! I’ve never been as relaxed as I was there!”

                Yuuri frowned. “It’s a fourteen hour flight just to get to _Tokyo_. We don’t have time for that.”

                Victor waved a hand dismissively. “It’s no different than flying out for a competition.”

                “Except that it’s _twenty-eight hours_ we could be _not flying._ We’re not going to Hasetsu.”

                Victor pouted. “Fine. Then how about France?” He gasped before resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Or back to Barcelona! Relive our engagement and you nearly winning gold.”

                “We’re not travelling in two days,” Yuuri said flatly. “Do you just…not relax at home?”

                “That’s _boring._ And anyway, being at home just makes me think of everything else.” He waved at the wall, proudly displaying several gold medals (and one silver). “I can’t get away from competitions with this staring down at me.”

                Yuuri pressed his lips together, an idea suddenly forming in his head. “You know what? I’m going to teach you how to do nothing.”

                “What?”

                “It’s a skill you’re _severely_ lacking. And,” Yuuri lifted his head and put on his best Coach voice, “I think it might be hurting your performance.”

                Victor threw his head back and groaned. “I can do nothing when I’m dead. Anyway, it’s so much more fun to go out and--Эй!”

            Victor had a habit of forgetting that Yuuri was (and these were Phichit’s words, not his) _part-kaiju._ Usually this was related to stamina, but his fiancé regularly forgot that he was fairly strong, too. So he was shocked into silence when Yuuri suddenly got to his feet and lifted Victor off the sofa. It wasn’t until they got to the bathroom that Victor finally found his voice, and it wasn’t until the tub was half-filled that Victor found the English for what he’d just said.

                “What _is_ this?” he asked, waving at Yuuri as his fiancé serenely dumped in some lavender scented salts.

                “Getting relaxed is the first step of doing nothing,” Yuuri hummed as he stirred the water. “And anyway, didn’t you say you wanted to go to the onsen?”

                “I…well, yes, but…”

                “This is much quicker than flying fourteen hours.” He tugged at Victor’s shirt. “Come on, all of this off.”

                Victor stared at Yuuri for a long moment, then gave a slow smirk. “Oh, I see.” His hands went to Yuuri’s jeans. “So we can relax by—ой!” Victor pouted again as Yuuri swatted at his hands.

                “For now, we’re just _relaxing._ ”

                Victor shot him a wounded look, but finally gave in and undressed. Yuuri did the same before guiding his fiancé into the bath; Victor looked none-too-happy.

                “I never liked baths,” he said, tone a bit petulant. “You just sit and do nothing, and I could be doing so much— _ah._ ”

                Victor immediately melted as Yuuri began rubbing his shoulders. Yuuri tutted.

                “God, you’re so much more tense than you look,” he hummed, pushing the heel of his palm hard against Victor’s stiff shoulders. “You _definitely_ need today.”

                “I don’t,” Victor protested, then let out a relieved sigh as Yuuri kneaded out a knot. After a few moments of letting Yuuri massage him, he glanced back over his shoulder, hand brushing Yuuri’s knee.

                “You’re _sure_ you don’t want me to—”

                “Today is about _you,_ Vicchan. More importantly, it’s about you doing _nothing._ ”

                Victor sighed, sinking down against Yuuri’s chest. “ _Fine._ ”

~

                Despite his initial complaining, Victor came out of the bath warm, sleepy, and surprisingly compliant. So when Yuuri guided him to the sofa and rested his head on his lap, he didn’t raise too much of a fuss when Yuuri pulled up his laptop and went to one of his specifically-not-for-thinking cooking shows.

                After a few moments of watching, Victor finally murmured, “You really enjoy doing this? Just…nothing?”

                “Every now and again, yeah. It helps me relax and recharge.”

                “Mm.”

                Yuuri, who had been idly stroking Victor’s damp hair, looked down at his fiancé curiously. “Did you absolutely hate it?”

                Victor’s eyes flicked up to look at him. “It’s not so bad when you’re here,” he mumbled, then turned his head up to look at Yuuri dead-on. “But tomorrow we do something _exciting_.”

                Yuuri smiled before leaning down to press a kiss to his husband’s lips. “I suppose that’s a fair enough reward for being such a good student.” He grinned. “And next time we do nothing, you should call me Coach Yuuri.”

                Victor snorted, bringing up a hand to push Yuuri’s face away. “Hush, _Coach Yuuri_ , they’re about to say whether Petra made it into the finals or not. A real coach wouldn’t interrupt such an intense moment.”

                “You always inter—”

                “ _Shh!!_ ”

                Yuuri laughed, resuming his combing through Victor’s hair. There was still a while to go, but maybe now Victor would find some time to just…breathe and relax. He could do with having someone besides Makkachin to spend his nothing-days with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *We're at the halfway point! Gonna try and write a few chapters early because my schedule during Thanksgiving Week is gonna be _wild_.


	16. A Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: needing each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally half-asleep as I write this.

                “What do you think I should do?”

                Yuuri isn’t prepared for the question when it comes. Despite having Victor as his coach, despite _marrying_ him, he still has a hard time believing that Victor—effervescent, beautiful, frustrating Victor Nikiforov—wants his opinion on things. Especially for something as important and life-changing as this.

                Things had changed after Victor tore his ACL. He’d already been working twice as hard since his comeback to keep surprising the crowd—which, even with new inspiration in the form of a fiancé/husband, was hard after over a decade of surprising people—and twenty-seven had been pushing it in terms of age, especially considering some of his competition was more than a decade younger than him.

                Still, he did get two full seasons in before the tear—no golds at Worlds this time, but considering one of them went to Yuuri, he could hardly be upset. But when the doctor confirmed that he had _torn_ his ACL after his last fall, Yuuri could see his husband’s world crumble around him.

                “But…I mean, it’s a simple surgery, right? I should be back in time for the next season,” he said, managing a high, quick laugh as he nervously squeezed Yuuri’s hand. The doctor looked at his paperwork for a long moment before he answered.

                “If you were twenty, I’m sure you could. But at almost thirty…well, your body doesn’t heal quite as well as it used to, and you _have_ put a lot of strain on yourself for almost twenty years…”

                Yuuri’s heart sank the minute Victor’s face fell. He immediately moved to gather his husband in a hug, but Victor shook his head and put on a big, but incredibly stiff, smile.

                “Then I’ll just have to do my best to prove you wrong,” he said. “When’s the soonest we can schedule the surgery?”

                The surgery had gone without a hitch, and Victor _had_ thrown himself into physical therapy. He cheerfully told Yuuri about how quickly he’d gotten better over his big fall in ’09, so this would no doubt be a piece of cake. He just had to stay positive.

When he wasn’t retraining his knee, he was choreographing. Yuuri loved watching Victor plan his routines, but something wasn’t quite right in this season’s. Normally, Victor—earbuds in place—would listen to the song on repeat for hours, the slight tilts of his head and raising of his eyes giving the slightest clues about the performance happening in his head. But this time, Victor would lift his head once, twice, before shaking his head and starting the song over. Another head lift, eyes drifting to the side…then he scowled and shook his head as he hit the back button. Finally, he pulled out the earphones in frustration and slammed the whole iPod on the table before announcing he was taking Makkachin on a walk.

                Victor wasn’t himself, that much was clear. Yuuri tried to be there for him, he really, _really_ did. But there was a heavy cloud hanging over his husband, and Yuuri was terrified of what the storm inside it held. So he maintained a small level of distance. It was selfish, and he knew it, but…he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

                The question comes when Yuuri is least expecting it. He’s busy sketching out a plan of what his costume could look like this year, and Victor’s hard at work watching the new competitors that’d be joining them on the road to the GPF.

                “This Czech skater’s amazing,” he quietly notes.

                Yuuri nods, not really listening. They’re always the first to praise their competitors, so it’s nothing unusual to hear.

                “Emil must be fighting tooth and nail against him,” Victor hums. “That’ll make for an interesting season.”

                “Mm.”

                “Phichit’s newest routines have been incredible, too. This season’s going to be a bloodbath of old and new skaters.” Victor’s brows draw together. “There’s no way I can keep up.”

                At that, Yuuri immediately looks up. “Oh, don’t say that! Once your knee heals, you’ll be right back with us.”

                Victor presses his lips together tightly, until only the smallest sliver of white is visible. “I…I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

                Yuuri freezes, pencil still on the paper.

                “What?” he wheezes, feeling as if the air had been punched out of him. Victor looks down, contemplating, before he finally lets out a little sigh.

                “We both know retirement is right around the corner, especially for me. And with this injury, I’m out for at least the season. I…I think…”

                Yuuri doesn’t miss his husband’s sniffle, or the way his eyes fill. But he’s far too scared to get close to him. Because as much as this hurts Victor, it hurts Yuuri, too. He’s face-to-face with the fact that his husband is _human_ , and humans can’t keep skating forever.

                But…but what could he do?! How could he _skate?!_ Victor had been his inspiration since he was twelve; the thought of skating without him in the picture was…it was…

                “Yuuri?”

                Stiffly, Yuuri turns his head to look at Victor. He swallows. “Y-yes?”

                That’s when the question comes, hesitant and trembling.

                “What do you think I should do?”

                The answer’s obvious. They both know what Victor ought to do, and, more than likely, what Victor _will_ do. But Victor can’t do this on his own; he knows it and Yuuri knows it.

                So Yuuri does what he knows he _can_ do to help. He moves over and wraps his arms around his husband. For a long moment, they sit in silence, Yuuri wrapped octopus style around his husband, and Victor slowly relaxing the longer Yuuri holds him. That moment, long and simple, is what they need to move ahead with what needs to be done. After a moment, Yuuri knows he needs to give the final blow.

                “I think you know what you should do” he whispers quietly into Victor’s ear. “But I’ll be right with you. I’ll retire, too, if you—”

                “ _No!_ ”

                Yuuri sits up straight. “Is that bad?”

                “Yes, it’s bad! Who am I supposed to coach if you quit?” Victor, eyes still glistening somewhat, put on a smile as he taps Yuuri’s nose. “No, my darling _katsudon_ , you have to stay in the competition. You’re skating for both of us now.”

                Yuuri blinks a few times. “But, won’t you…”

                “Love being a full time choreographer? Of course.” At Yuuri’s frown, Victor’s look softens. He lets out a sigh as he presses his forehead to Yuuri’s. “Be patient with me, _zolotse._ This will be hard.” He half-smiles. “So I expect you to win another gold for me to ease the pain.”

                Yuuri finally breaks a smile, and he sighs as he squeezes Victor again. “I’ll make you proud, Vitya,” he murmurs. “No matter what happens, I’ll make my coach proud.

~

                Victor’s announcement is surprisingly reserved and collected. A quick tweet and a quicker press conference sent out word that Victor Nikiforov, after much deliberation, has decided to retire from the world of competitive skating (at least, as a _competitor._ ) The skating world is shocked that anything less than death kept Victor from competing, but no one can complain. After all, it should make the GPF and Worlds an easy fight.

                What they aren’t expecting is Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s Ace, finally letting himself take center stage as his husband sank back. They _definitely_ aren’t ready for the magic he puts out, somehow a perfect fusion of his own skills with glimmers of Victor coming through. Because now he was skating for the both of them.

                And, more importantly, he had to _win_ for both of them.


	17. Wash Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Washing something together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural note: I'm going off of about half an hour of research into onsen and Japanese inns, so if I'm wrong about how private baths work, my bad.

                Victor had been in Yutopia for nearly three weeks now, but he still managed to surprise Yuuri every other second. Today, the surprise came in the form of asking if washing Makkachin in one of the house baths was all right.

                “I could do it outside, but I’m worried she might get too cold,” he’d said, arms full of dog-cleaning supplies. “She may be Russian, but even we have our limits.”

                Yuuri glanced at the supplies and realized Victor was serious. “Yes! Yes, of course. We have a family bath we can get her in.” He glanced at the supplies again as he guided Victor to the private bath. “I didn’t know you washed her yourself.”

                “Of course!” Victor smiled a bit as he set down the supplies on the bath’s low ridge. “I don’t get to spend much time with her, so when I get the chance, I make sure she never leaves my side.” He grinned up at Yuuri. “I trim her, too! Though she doesn’t need it just yet.” He looked at the showerhead, pressing a finger to his lips. “Though…could you do me one more favor, Yuuri?”

                He thought Victor would figure out by now that every request would be met with an automatic yes, but apparently not. “Er, of course.”

                “Could you bring Makka in?” He gave a smile and a shrug. “She’s already suspicious of me after brushing her so much, and she’s learned that ‘ванна’ and ‘bath’ mean the same thing. But I don’t think she’s figured out Japanese yet.”

                Yuuri’s mouth turned up in a smile. “I used to use English whenever I took Vi—my dog to the groomer. It worked pretty well up until I went to Detroit.” He nodded to the door. “I’ll go get her.”

                Victor’s plan worked better than expected; Makkachin had essentially become the onsen dog immediately after her arrival, and she had already begun associating Japanese with plenty of attention and treats. So when Yuuri found her and chirped, “Makkachin! 風呂が欲しいですか!”She immediately walked away from his mother’s side and trotted after him, tail wagging expectantly.

                Her hopeful excited look immediately turned to one of utter betrayal as they reached the bath, and Yuuri just managed to catch her before she turned and bolted. It took a bit of maneuvering and upper body strength, but he managed to lift her over to the shower. Victor gently took a hold of her collar, and by then she knew it was too late. So, with an irritated huff, she sat down and waited for the inevitable.

                As Victor let the water warm, he looked up at Yuuri. “Do you mind helping? If we both wash her, we’ll be done quicker and she’ll be less…” Victor’s brow furrowed as he searched for the word. “…sulky? Well, less upset with me.”

                Yuuri smiled and nodded, pushing up his sleeves to help lather her up. Victor insisted on taking her head (“I’ve trained myself against her sad look. You’d never be able to resist it.”) and Yuuri took care of her back. There were a few whines, a few whispered Russian praises, and a lot of Yuuri chiding his heart for jumping every time his and Victor’s fingers brushed. But they did manage to Makkachin shampooed, rinsed, conditioned, and rinsed again with little incident.

                “ Какая ты хорошая девушка!” Victor crooned, then looked up at Yuuri. “Now we just need to towel her off before she pouts for the next few hours.”

                Towel? _Ah._ “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think to get one.”

                Victor blinked. “Oh! You probably don’t want to use the onsen towels for dogs. I could…”

                “No, I’ll get—”

                They both stood up at the same time. Ordinarily, this would result in a few minutes of insisting that they let the other do as they like. But there was no time now, since they’d made a very small, very devastating mistake.

                Both of them had let go of Makkachin.

                In the hassle of trying to get Makka into the bath, Yuuri had neglected to close the door, which gave her free reign to bolt right out. Both Victor and Yuuri dived, trying to catch her, but she was quick as anything and headed straight to the onsen.

                Victor and Yuuri were right on her tail, slipping and skidding over the hardwood floor as they tried to catch sixty pounds of sopping-wet dog, calling out sweet nothings in what had to be five different languages as they tried to catch her. Only now, to Makkachin, it had become a game; her efforts to stay away from them redoubled. Several guests were caught in the cross-fire as her wagging tail sent sprays of water all over the communal den, and one poor man—content and dry after a long soak in the hot spring—was soaked to the bone as she stopped to give herself a good shake.

                Yuuri, while apologizing to the guests as he ran by, saw his chance. He dove to catch her.

                But so did Victor.

                The two collided mid-lunge, Yuuri’s forehead cracking against Victor’s jaw, and they fell in a heap. Makkachin gave a bark at the two of them before victoriously trotting away.

                Yuuri sat up with a grimace, pressing a hand to his forehead before he adjusted his glasses. He looked up and immediately sucked in a breath as he saw Victor rub his jaw.

                Oh god.

                _He’d headbutted Victor Nikiforov._

                “O-o-OHHH my god, I’m so sorry, Victor, I—” Yuuri trailed off as Victor laughed.

                “What a cheater! She used us to get away. You almost got her, too!” He got to his feet, then held out a hand to help Yuuri up. “Careful, the floor’s still wet.”

                Once Yuuri was up—still freaking out about headbutting his _idol_ but doing so quietly—they searched for where Makkachin had run off to. Not Victor’s room, or Yuuri’s…so where…?

                _Ah._

                In retrospect, they should have checked the kitchen first; it was Makkachin’s favorite non-bedroom room, of course, and Hiroko would be cooking for dinner by now. And, indeed, there the poodle was, happily munching on a treat while Hiroko serenely toweled her off.

                “Ah, there you two are! I heard the commotion out in the front,” she said as she stood up. Yuuri grimaced.

                “Sorry. I’ll—”

                “If there’s anything I can do to help fix things…” Victor was quick to speak, and Yuuri could see that his charm was turned up to eleven. Clearly he was used to dealing with messes he had created when staying abroad.

                Hiroko gave a little smile—one that said she could see right through Victor’s charm—then waved her hand. “I’ve had far worse come through here than a wet dog, though you’re lucky Makkachin is so cute.” She handed each of them a rag from a nearby drawer, as well as a bucket from beside the sink. “Just dry up the room and it’s okay. I’ll keep an eye on her until she’s dry.”

                 They both nodded, though once they were back in the den, Yuuri shook his head.

                “I can take care of it. You really don’t have to…” He trailed off as Victor was already on the floor, mopping up a puddle.

                “This is the least I’ve had to do after getting in trouble with hotel management,” he said cheerfully, then gave Yuuri a wink. “Though if you don’t hurry up, I may end up taking your job.”

                Yuuri laughed, getting down on his knees to mop up a streak of water. “It’s not so much my job as it is being a Katsuki. I’ve been cleaning this room since I could walk.”

                Victor had turned, but Yuuri caught the way his cheek rose in a smile. “So if I mop up enough, does that mean I can be a Katsuki too?”

                Yuuri chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t know about that. But if you stay for too long, we might end up splitting chores.”

                Victor was quiet for a moment; probably focusing on his task. However, when Yuuri went to squeeze out the rag, he murmured, “I don’t think I’d mind that.”

                “What?”

                Victor looked up, then gave Yuuri a sunny grin. “You’re so slow! If I’m spending all this time and effort conditioning you, the least you could do is mop a bit faster.” He flicked his rag toward Yuuri, sending a spray of water at him. “At this rate, I’ll end up being the favorite Katsuki.”

                Yuuri laughed as the water hit him, then shook his head as he picked up the bucket.

                “Hey! I haven’t had a chance to squeeze out my rag,” Victor complained.

                Summoning up every bit of courage in him, Yuuri turned his head to smile at Victor over his shoulder and give him a wink. “You’ll have to work more efficiently than that if you want to be a Katsuki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 風呂が欲しいですか! - Do you want a bath?
> 
> Какая ты хорошая девушка! - What a good girl!


	18. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: One of them is sick

                Victor was sick. He was _very_ sick. Body aches, watery eyes, constant fluctuation between sweating and shivering. Any attempt to move out from under the blankets resulted in his body protesting by making his head swim and uncontrollable coughs. He was _miserable._ But, surprisingly, not nearly as miserable as he had been the last time he got sick.

                Naturally, getting sick was already an athlete’s worst nightmare. The practice he’d have to make up—Euros were just around the corner, after all—and the thought of trying to skate with a cough were already stressing him out a bit. But more than that, Victor’s whole life was spent in constant motion. He had to experience things! He had to go out and have fun! And putting his whole life on hold because his body couldn’t keep up for a few days was practically _death_ to him. But this year was different.

                This year, he had Yuuri.

                Wonderful, sweet Yuuri who took care of him so well! Careful, doting Yuuri who would sympathize with his poor, sick fiancé and make sure he was as comfortable as possible. He probably had a million home recipes from Mama Hiroko of perfect sick food and would be the best possible nurse while Victor did his best to keep from dying.

                Just the thought of all of that kept Victor from being _completely_ miserable. And, when he heard the door open, his heart gave a little leap at the thought of all the love he’d receive today.

                “Oh, are you still in bed?”

                Victor gave a pathetic little nod, then tried to give a pathetic little cough—which turned into a huge, hacking cough. He peeked over the blanket, brow furrowing slightly as he saw Yuuri seize up.

                “Are you _sick_?” he asked, voice tight.

                Victor frowned behind his blanket, but he gave another pathetic little nod.

                Yuuri immediately slammed their door shut.

                _Excuse me??_

Victor frowned as he sat up. Yuuri was supposed to simper over how awful Victor must feel, not _leave_. Where was the tender care he was supposed to get?

                _Ah!_ Maybe Yuuri was getting everything ready for him, and he was in a hurry to get all of his cold-curing remedies together. Yes, that must be it. Victor smiled and huddled back under the blankets, hugging them tightly around himself as he shivered and waited for his fiancé’s return.

                It took a few minutes, but finally he heard the door open. He peeked over, catching Yuuri in his travel mask. Ah, of course, he wouldn’t want to get sick. Victor smiled a bit and sank back under the covers, waiting in anticipation for Yuuri’s wonderful, tender care.

                “Victor, open.”

                He poked his head up and obediently opened his mouth, only to choke as Yuuri shoved a spoonful of vinegar into it. Victor sat up and coughed, eyes watering.

                “What was that?!”

                “Apple Cider Vinegar. It’s—”

                “ _Why_ would _vinegar_ be a good idea?”

                “It cuts down your cold by a day! Euros is just two months away, and you can’t waste any time!”

_Ah._

Victor had made one grievous error in his daydreams of perfect-nurse-Katsuki-Yuuri: he’d forgotten that he was engaged to a professional ice skater. Victor pouted, both from the residual taste of vinegar as well as Yuuri’s rough treatment of him. “Well, I had the vinegar. Just let me die in peace now.”

                “Open.”

                Victor sank below the covers, giving Yuuri a glare as his vision of perfect-nurse-Katsuki-Yuuri shattered around him. “No.”

                “You’re not a _child_ , Victor.”

                Victor glanced to the side, then sighed and lifted his head and opening his mouth. Yuuri set something on his tongue.

                “Okay, now chew that.”

                 Victor rolled his eyes as he started to chew, only to cough and spit it out as his mouth started to burn. “Oh my god!”

                “Garlic is good for—”

                “ _Why did you give me raw garlic?!_ ”

                Yuuri held up his phone. “Because it’s the best way to get the health benefits!”

                Victor shook his head, setting the half-chewed garlic clove into an empty mug before huddling back under the covers. “Just let me die from this cold. Leave me be.”

                Yuuri stayed quiet for a moment, then got up and left the room—which was just as well for Victor, because he thought he might cry (though that might just be a side effect from the garlic). But _how_ could his husband-to-be be so callous? Yes, he was a skater, too, but surely something had to pierce that fragile heart of his! Wasn’t seeing the love of his life wasting away beneath layers of blankets enough?

                Victor was so caught up in his sulking that he didn’t hear the door open again. All at once, a gloved hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

                “Hey!”

                “Come with me.”

                “I said let me die!”

                “You’re not dying, Victor Nikiforov, now come with me!”

                Victor relented, following after Yuuri with as good a huff as he could manage with a stuffed-up nose. Yuuri opened the door to the bathroom and shoved him in. Victor nearly slipped and fell once he was inside, and he coughed a few times at the sheer amount of steam in the room.

                “That’s good! It means you’re getting the phlegm out!” Yuuri called from the other side of the door. “Now get in the bath! That’ll get your muscles back into shape.”

                Victor pouted at the door, but sighed and stripped down before getting into the bath. _God_ , it was hot, but he managed to sink down into the water. Well, it did feel like his nose was clearing up, and his body was a little less achy. Maybe Yuuri was onto something.

                But still! Even Yakov wasn’t this cruel to him when he broke his ankle. When was that? Four…five years ago? Didn’t matter. Anyway, how could Yuuri do such a thing? How could…

                Victor’s brain slowly went to a gray buzz as he sat in the tub. God, he was warm. His eyes were so heavy. He should sleep. You should always sleep when you have a cold. He let out a sigh and shut his eyes, sinking down in the bath.

                Only to be awoken by Yuuri abruptly pulling him out what felt like a second later.

                “You could have died! My god, I almost killed you!”

                Victor blinked stupidly, brain still a mess of gray buzzing. How had Yuuri almost killed him?

                “I should have thought…I mean, you have a fever and you’ve barely had any water…of course you would have fainted…”

                Victor faintly registered what Yuuri was saying, but it was a lot of English and he was very tired. And sick! Poor sick Vitya without a loving nurse to take care of him. But really he was _very_ tired, so—even though he was cross at Yuuri—he let his head loll onto his shoulder to fall asleep again.

                This time, he knew it had been a while since he passed out. But while he still felt significantly terrible when he woke up, it was less terrible than he’d felt earlier. He kept his eyes shut, dozing off and on again for who knew how long before he heard a soft knock on the door. He opened his eyes blearily and peeked over the blanket.

                “Come in.”

                The door opened, and Yuuri—now sans travel mask—walked in, a tray balanced on his hip. He gave Victor a sheepish look.

                “Hey.”

                Victor frowned, trying not to get too hopeful as he saw the steaming bowl and mug on the tray. Quietly, Yuuri brought it over to the bed and set it down.

                “How…are you feeling?” he asked hesitantly.

                “Awful.”

                Yuuri grimaced. “I figured.” He picked up the mug and handed it to Victor. “Here.”

                “Is it more vinegar?” That was a little sharper than Victor intended, but…well, Yuuri kind of deserved it right now after the whole fainting thing.

                “No, just lemon water with honey.”

                Victor took the mug, looking up at Yuuri before taking a cautious sip. _Oh,_ yes, it was what Yuuri said, and it was _marvelous._

                As Victor sipped, Yuuri picked up the bowl from the tray and stirred it a bit.

                “Open.” At Victor’s wary look, he added, “It’s not raw garlic, I promise.”

                Victor’s brow furrowed, but he did as Yuuri asked. A very mild rice porridge was what met his tongue.

                “It’s okayu. It’s what Mom made me and Mari when we were sick,” Yuuri explained as he fed Victor another spoonful. He sighed. “Sorry. For earlier. I just…when I get sick, I do everything I can to get better as soon as I can. But I should have been more careful.” He pulled the spoon away to look at Victor sympathetically. “It’s terrible being sick.”

                “It is,” Victor agreed before taking another sip of tea. “And maybe you shouldn’t read any more articles about remedies.”

                Yuuri gave a small laugh. “No, maybe I shouldn’t.” He looked at Victor again, then leaned forward to give his forehead a soft kiss. “Take your time getting better, Vicchan.”

                A tiny smile flicked at Victor’s lips. _Finally_. But, even though his imagined Nurse Yuuri was becoming reality, a worry gnawed at him. “You’re not afraid of getting sick?”

                “Google told me that you’re most contagious _before_ the symptoms hit. So if I’m gonna catch it, I already have.” He grinned at Victor. “And maybe you could be a better nurse than me.”

                “Mm. I _will_ make you drink some vinegar, though. It’s only fair.”

                “Deal. I’ll leave the tray here for you, Vicchan.” He gave Victor one last kiss. “Feel better soon.”

                Victor smiled as Yuuri left the room. Well, not his vision. But even so, a real Yuuri was so much better than an imagined one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: What Yuuri does is NOT guaranteed to cure a cold. Stay hydrated, have some honey, and get lots of rest. You'll be much happier than you'd be eating a raw clove of garlic. DO have [okayu](https://www.justonecookbook.com/rice-porridge-okayu/), though. It's the best thing when you're feeling sick.


	19. Two Russians Walk into a Kitchen...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Spoiling Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said that sometimes I'd have the challenge be very loosely based on the prompt? Today is one of those days. I missed my Yurochka.
> 
> (Also, for a little more context on the two Yuris' relationship, maybe check [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938845/chapters/26989038) out.

                It wasn’t often Yuri went to the _lovebirds’_ flat of his own volition. He had his own _very important_ life to live, after all. No, _they_ were the ones who invited him over most days. And yes, they were huge dorks, and _yes,_ they were usually _disgusting_ with all their lovey-dovey crap, but there was usually good food in the house, which was more than he could say for Lilia’s ultra-healthy home.

                And, if he was being honest, he didn’t _mind_ it when it was just the pig and him. The past few times he’d been invited over was to help Yuuri with translations while Victor was out peacocking for news crews over his whole “has-been on ice” comeback, and it’d been…nice? _Fun?_ They’d watched some cooking competition show when he’d been there last time, and Yuuri had actually _yelled at the TV._

                Seeing Katsuki Yuuri get angry was probably the most beautiful thing Yuri had ever seen.

                So he decided to take a slice out of his very busy schedule and pay the pig another visit. They both could probably do with a good yell-at-a-TV, and maybe— _juuuust_ maybe—he could get some katsudon out of the deal.

                He made his way up to their apartment, then punched in the code to get the spare key from the lockbox next to the door. (The code was 4653, because it spelled GOLD on a keypad. Evidence that they were _dorks._ ) Not even bothering to knock, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

                “Welcome back, _Yuuri_.”

                Yuri immediately stiffened as he heard the purr, then looked up to find a Victor Nikiforov in _not nearly enough clothes_ standing in front of him. He did the mature thing in this situation, which was to immediately shriek and cover his eyes.

                “Oh! Yurio, I didn’t expect—”

                “ _Where are your pants_?”

                “Ha, you know, I thought you were Yuuri and…”

                “ _WHERE are your PANTS_?”

                Victor puffed, pulling his robe tighter around himself. Yuri peeked out from behind his fingers to make sure Victor was decent, then huffed and squared his shoulders.

                “What kind of degenerate walks around like that?” he snapped. Victor arched an eyebrow.

                “Well, you _could_ have knocked. How did you get that key anyway?”

                Fair point. Yuri decided it was best to change the subject. “What were you even _doing?_ I thought you’re out on your press tour.”

                Victor’s eyes lit up. “I was, but I finished early! So I figured I’d surprise Yuuri and use the time off to make up for all the lost time.” He gestured to the room, softly lit by enough candles to warrant a fire hazard. “I have a romantic night all planned out.”

                “Pff. You think _this_ is what he’d want?”

                “You…don’t think he’d like it?”

                Yuri looked up as he caught the suddenly worried tone in Victor’s voice. Victor’s brow was furrowed, and a finger pressed to his lips as he looked over the room with suddenly doubtful eyes.

                _Ohhh_ , it couldn’t be this easy to get payback. It _could NOT_ be this easy.

                Yuri hid his smirk by giving his head a derisive toss. “ _Obviously_ he wouldn’t. Katsudon doesn’t like this kind of gushy stuff.”

                “What? Yes, he does.”

                “No, _you_ like it. This whole thing says ‘I’m Victor Nikiforov, look at me.’”

                “But he’s always said…”

                “Come on, do you _really_ think he’d _tell_ you if he didn’t like something?”

                Victor’s face fell. Yuri mentally patted himself on the back for ruining Victor’s night—it was the least he could do after ruining Yuri’s eyesight _forever._ He gave a shrug as he turned to go.

                “Well, good luck with your surprise, I guess. Too bad it sucks.” He took exactly one step toward the door when strong hands suddenly gripped his shoulders.

                “Yura, wait.”

                “Wha—?”

                “ _Tell me what Yuuri likes._ ”

                Yuri’s head whirled around. “Aren’t you two _married?_ ”

                “Engaged, but that’s not the point.” Victor turned him around to face him, blue eyes fixed right on green ones. “Sometimes when you get too close to someone, you stop seeing obvious things. It’s like how Yakov asks us to check each other’s footwork or spins. So sometimes I need someone else’s take on Yuuri.” His fingers dug into Yuri’s shoulders. “You spent time with him while I was away! What did _you_ notice?”

                Yuri blinked, a weird, tiny bit of anger flaring in his chest as he realized that the pig had told Victor about them hanging out. It was dumb of him to be bothered by that, and it was even dumber of _Yuuri_ to be the _cause_ of that bother.

                Time to get even.

                He shrugged off Victor’s hands. “Well, first off, he does a _lot_ of the cooking. I think you ought to take over and treat him to a nice dinner.”

                Victor nodded. “Yes, all right. I’ll call right—”

                “Does _Yuuri_ call out for dinner?”

                Victor blinked, then glanced at Yuri. “You…think I should _cook_ something?”

                “ _Duh._ ”

                “I can’t cook.”

                “Time to learn, then, isn’t it?” Yuri said with a smug smile. “Good luck, _Vitya_.” Once again, he turned to leave, only to be stopped once again by a hand grabbing his shoulder.

                “Stop that!”

                “You can cook.”

                Yuri blinked several times before Victor’s words processed, and he frowned as he looked over his shoulder. “You want me to cook for _your surprise_? That’s low.”

                “No! But…you could help?” Victor said with a hopeful smile.

                A second passed in silence. But in that second, Yuri had a vision of Yuuri receiving a wonderful meal, and, just as Victor was about to take credit for it, Yuri would sweep in and say that HE was the one behind this culinary masterpiece. Yuuri would immediately kick Victor out for the night, as he deserved, and they would…well, Yuri didn’t get that far in his one-second daydream. But they’d probably yell at the TV.

                 He shrugged off Victor’s hand. “All right, fine. I’ll help.”

                Victor gave him one of his stupidly wide smiles. “You’re a _life-saver_ , Yurio!” He once again took Yuri’s shoulders, guiding him to the kitchen. “If we get started now, we should finish before Yuuri gets home.”

                “ _Put some pants on first!_ ”

~

                There was one problem in Yuri’s plan to dazzle Yuuri with his culinary expertise: he only knew how to make pirozhki.

                Granted, there were a lot of fillings for pirozhki! But…he only knew how to make one of them. Luckily, it was Grandpa’s katsudon pirozhki. So obviously he could make katsudon.

                As he pulled back his hair and waited for a fully-clothed Victor to join him in the kitchen, he opened up the pantry. He knew the pig had the ingredients for katsudon, he just had to…

                _Oh no._

                “ _Victor!_ ” he called over his shoulder. “Read these labels!”

                “Hm?” Victor trotted back in, head tilted just like his dog’s—Yuri figured it was something a dog person would find cute, but not him—as he peeked into the cupboard. Yuri pulled out a jar and held it up to him.

                “Read this. You know Japanese, right?”

                Victor glanced down at the jar. “A lot of this is kanji, I can’t read that.”

                “You’re _marrying_ a _Japanese man_.”

                “Japanese is _very difficult,_ Yurio!”

                Yuri huffed as he snatched the jar back and looked it over. Well…he’d figure it out. He set the jar down and pulled out a box he _knew_ was panko. He shoved it at Victor.

                “Start breading the pork. I’ll make the sauce.”

                “Right!” Victor headed to the fridge, then came back to the cupboard. “How do I bread the pork?”

                Yuri threw back his head with a loud groan. Victor was _useless._ “Beat an egg and dip the pork in that, then cover it in breadcrumbs.”

                “Right!” Victor started to turn, then turned back. “How do I—”

                “ _You whisk it!_ With a fork or something! Figure it out!”

                As Victor _finally_ got to work on the pork, Yuri dug around in the cupboard. So he needed to make a stock with seaweed and a little flaky fish thing. He found a package of seaweed squares, and some sort of…flaky thing with sesame seeds. That was probably it. He grabbed a few more jars of spices that looked necessary, then made his way to the stove to make the stock. He glanced over at Victor, simultaneously hoping he was screwing up and that he was doing well enough not to _poison_ Yuuri. He was…actually breading it well?

                “How are you not messing up?” he asked flatly as he dumped the whole package of seaweed squares into a pot and set it to boil. Victor gave him a smile.

                “I’ve done this a few times when Yuuri’s cooked. I never knew it was called ‘breading’, though.”

                Yuri gave a derisive huff as he dumped in some of the sesame seed mix. Of _course_ Victor wouldn’t pay attention. “Heat up some oil. You fry it while I work on the egg and the broth.”

                Victor nodded, pulling out a pan and grabbing the closest oil to pour into it. As he did whatever, Yuri focused on his own work.

                “This is fun,” Victor said brightly after a few minutes. “You should come over more often and cook with us, Yurio!”

                Yuri made a noise that clearly said “Not on your fucking life, Nikiforov”. The whole apartment complex would burn down because they would be too busy kissing or whatever to notice the stove had caught on fire. He could imagine it so clearly that he actually _smelled_ smoke.

                Oh, wait. That was the pork.

                “Flip it over, dumbass!” he yelled at Victor, who hurriedly grabbed a spatula and flipped the pork. _Oh_ , no, half the breading had stuck to the pan. Victor worked to scrape it off, but it was stuck fast. Well, maybe he’d let Victor take the credit for the pork, then.

                _His_ side was coming along marvelously, though. It didn’t smell quite right, so Yuri added a few of the spices to the stock before adding an egg to it. Well, now it didn’t look right. But that was how it was done, right? He’d seen Yuuri do…something like this. And his katsudon pirozhki had turned out great! Lilia _and_ Yakov had said so!

                Though, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen them take more than one bite…

                No. He was doing this right. He was good at cooking and this would be the best sauce Yuuri had ever eaten. He’d taste it now and figure out anything to tweak, but he was sure it’d be delicious. So, with a smile, he dipped a spoon into the egg-broth mixture and took a bite.

                Oh, _shit._

                The spoon dropped to the floor, and Yuri immediately covered his mouth as he smelled smoke again.

                “Damn, the pork!” He looked up as Victor once again tried to pry the cutlet from the pan. He succeeded this time, but the whole side was black. Victor stared at the burned cutlet, then looked up at Yuri.

                “Well…maybe with the sauce he won’t notice?”

                Yuri shook his head, still too overwhelmed from his taste test to speak. Instead, he grabbed another spoon and dipped it in the egg-broth mixture before shoving it at Victor. Victor looked at it, then took a careful bite.

                “Oh my _god._ ”

                Victor grimaced and swallowed with some difficulty. After a moment, he and Yuri looked at each other.

                “Yuuri can’t eat this,” Victor said.

                “It’ll kill him,” Yuri agreed.

                “We need a plan B.”

~

                “ただいま, Makkachin,” Yuuri called wearily, skates slung over his shoulder.

                “おかえり!” Victor chirped from the living room. Even from a decent distance, Yuri could catch the way the pig’s face lit up as he heard Victor’s voice, and he immediately ran toward his fiancé, who caught him in a tight hug.

                God, they were gross.

                He shook his head as he opened up the last of the boxes they’d received just five minutes before from Yuuri’s favorite takeaway place. Hopefully he’d manage to not throw up all over them, but that was getting harder the more he heard the two coo over each other. (Victor had been gone for _one week_ ; it wasn’t like he’d _died_ or anything.) He flopped down on the floor and pulled out his phone to text Otabek about how terrible the cooking had gone—he might have decided to stay for dinner, but that didn’t mean he wanted to watch the idiot and the pig suck each other’s faces off.

                “Ah! You got dinner, that’s so nice!” Yuuri said as they finally made their way to the living room.

                “Actually, it was Yurio’s idea. He figured someone besides you should cook.”

                Yuri froze, gripping the phone hard as _Victor actually gave him credit for_ his _better idea_. He jerked his head up just in time to catch Yuuri give him a big smile before sitting down.

                “Thanks, Yura! And you know, it’s probably safer that we got takeout. I don’t know if you knew this, but Vicchan’s a _disaster_ in the kitchen.”

                Before he could stop himself, Yuri let out a high-pitched laugh that _definitely_ wasn’t a giggle. He quickly tried to cover it up by shoving a pelmeni into his mouth and shrugging. “I figured he would be.”

                Victor pouted. “Trophy husband’s aren’t supposed to cook, you know.”

                Yuuri laughed, patting Victor’s chest before sitting down. “Of course they aren’t.”

                Yuri rolled his eyes as they continued to flirt. So tonight didn’t go as planned—whatever. At least the food was good. And, maybe once Victor went to bed at his old man time, he and Yuuri could get some yelling-at-the-TV time before he went home.

                Lord knew he needed it after today.


	20. Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shopping together

                “Victor, this is ridiculous.”

                “Ah, ah! _You_ were the one who wanted to go sightseeing, and _you_ were the one who suggested we go shopping.” Victor gave a satisfied smirk as Yuuri glared—or maybe just squinted, since his glasses were currently in Victor’s hands--from his place on the tailor’s block, where one of the salesmen was pinning a handsome black suit around him. “And besides, gold medal winners don’t wear school uniforms to the GPF banquet.”

                Yuuri rolled his eyes. “It’s not a school uniform.”

                “No? Then why do you look like a middle school student in it?”

                “I don’t think my coach should be so mean.”

                “A mean coach wouldn’t show you how good you look in a _real_ suit.”

                Yuuri shook his head. “You know I can’t afford this, Victor. I’m still trying to figure out how I’ll pay you for this season.”

                Victor stared at Yuuri in silence for a full thirty seconds. He kisses the man, they have a heartfelt airport reunion, they’re practically _sharing a bed_ …and Yuuri _still_ hasn’t figured it out? Well. Best not to push. He waves a hand.

                “Well, why don’t we call it a late birthday gift? With the emergency, I wasn’t able to get you anything.”

                Yuuri’s eyes immediately widened. “Ohh, no! No, I can’t…there’s no way I can accep—”

                “ _Perfecto!_ Señor, please…” The salesman turned Yuuri around mid-sentence, and any argument immediately died on his lips as he saw himself in the mirror. Victor crossed his legs, eyes warm as he watched Yuuri look over his reflection, obviously marveling over the suit’s perfect fit. He, of course, knew that a well-tailored suit was _impossible_ to say no to, but it was always fun to see someone realize it for the first time.

He arched a brow, though, as Yuuri’s expression changed from amazement to…something else. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the mirror, then reached up and pushed his hair back. All at once, his soft face became all angles, and he glanced at Victor’s reflection with an expression that was _all_ Eros.

Victor’s heart thumped in his chest, and he was suddenly aware that it was _very warm_ in this boutique. Yuuri’s mouth quirked up in a small, knowing smile.

                “You like this suit,” he said, voice lilting just enough to give the _appearance_ of a question despite it being a very obvious statement.

                Victor nodded eagerly. “You look _incredible._ ”

                Yuuri tilted his head up slightly, elongating his neck and parting his lips, a glimmer of warm brown peeking out beneath his lashes. His mouth curved up at Victor’s almost comically obvious swallow.

                “Not like a middle schooler?”

                “ _Definitely not_.”

                Yuuri glanced over his shoulder at him, hands still in his hair, arm creating a window around his eyes.

                _Oh._

Yuuri _had_ figured it out.

                Despite the fact that it was now _very hot in this boutique_ , Victor felt his heart swell with pride. Just _look_ at that confidence. The Yuuri he’d met in Hasetsu would never dream of doing this.

                But then, all at once, Yuuri pulled his hands away with a grin, face softening again as his hair fell back into place. He was almost the Yuuri from Hasetsu again…except for the glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked over himself again.

                _Oh_ , look how far his katsudon had come.

                “Okay. You can get it,” he finally said. “But one condition.”

                “Yes?”

                “You can’t burn my old suit. I can’t wear this _everywhere._ ” His cheek curved up, and he glanced over his shoulder with one last look that was _pure, unadulterated_ Eros. “That might get dangerous.”

                _Fuck._

                Victor had created a _monster._

                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: 
> 
> "Suit", Part B: Yuuri's POV
> 
> HOLY SHIT DID I JUST SAY THAT WHAT KIND OF PERSON AM I AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.


	21. Grand Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Buying Flowers for the Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not actually the end of the 30 days)

                Victor’s last competition comes all too soon. He had announced his retirement just a few months before Worlds, and the atmosphere—normally full of buzzing and excitement—is quiet and somber on the day of the Free Skate. There’s a lot of whispering and a lot of pointing as Yuuri and Victor make their way to the rink. Victor, ever the crowdpleaser, takes selfies with anyone who asks and talks to several teary-eyed young skaters who cite him as their inspiration. At a glance, he looks like he does every competition—all smiles and cool confidence.

                Yuuri knows, though; he sees the way his mouth twitches, sees the way his gaze turns inward, sees the way his eyes glisten as he steps off the ice after warm up. Victor’s doing everything he can to hold it together, at least until the competition’s over. Then…then they find their way forward, wherever that would be.

                He slips away after getting his score. As much as Victor will need him in the aftermath of his performance, for now he decides to leave Victor to his first two loves: the ice and the performance.

                Victor is _beautiful_ in his free skate. The routine’s the same as the one he’s had since the start of the season—before the announcement—but it’s changed ever-so-slightly. It’s become a love letter to his journey on the ice—a glimpse of himself at sixteen, a nod to his grand return a few years before, there’s even a touch of Katsuki Yuuri in his step sequence—and he makes it look as easy as ever. The audience is dead-silent, spellbound, until he gracefully spins into his final pose. His chest heaves and he looks up with wide, wet eyes as the stadium erupts into applause.

                Victor stands on the ice for entirely too long, wide-eyed and basking in the thunderous applause that has no indication of quieting. No one tells him to leave; everyone in the arena knows full-well that this is the end of an era, and not one official can find it in themselves to tell Victor Nikiforov that his moment is over.

                Finally, he takes a breath before sending the crowd his widest smile and taking a deep bow to each side of the ice. He mouths “Спасибо, Thank you” toward the camera, then gathers up poodle plushes and flowers as he finally makes his way off the ice.

                Yakov’s waiting in the Kiss and Cry. For the second time in Victor’s skating career, he doesn’t give him a lecture. Later, he’ll gruffly say “What was the point if you weren’t going to perform again?” but Victor never quite believes him.

                Victor doesn’t even wait for the scores before throwing his arms around Yakov and hugging him tightly. And, for the first time _ever_ , Yakov hugs him back, tightly and with a whisper of “Well done, Vitechka” that nearly makes him lose it all right there. But he doesn’t, because the camera’s still on him and he’s a showman to the end.

                But the end comes—at least, until it’s time to go to the podium—and suddenly it’s very real that this was his exit from the world he’d known for over half of his life. He stands very still, not hearing the congratulations and shouts of praise from the skaters passing him. This was different than when he’d first become Yuuri’s coach. He’d known then that he would come back to the ice.

                Now all that’s in front of him is the great, dark expanse of the unknown, and he can do nothing but stand frozen in front of it.

                “ _Victor!”_

                The voice breaks through his trance, bringing him back to the present. He turns, and all at once he’s greeted by dozens upon dozens of blue roses, with two warm brown eyes peeking out from just above them. He’s spellbound by the sight, blinking even as Yuuri adjusts the bouquets to smile at him over the flowers.

                “I…I thought it’d be good book-ends,” he says as he hands the flowers to Victor. He has one more surprise—a crown of blue roses, carefully held beneath the others, that he now sets on Victor’s head. “Starting and ending Seniors as the Lilac Fairy.”

                Victor stares at his husband for a long moment. Yuuri stays put, face soft and open. All at once, Victor finally breaks. The roses fall to the ground as he launches himself into Yuuri’s arms and grips him tightly. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t sob, but he shakes hard in his husband’s arms as he lets himself realize that it’s all over. Yuuri says nothing, simply holds Victor tightly, cheek pressed to temple to assure that he was there. That he would be there whenever and however Victor needs him.

                In the unknown before him, a new path appears. Victor doesn’t know where it will wind or what lies at the end of it. But Yuuri will be there beside him, and suddenly he isn’t afraid to take that first step.  

               


	22. Smack-Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Competing

                “I hope you’re focused, Yuuri.”

                Yuuri, who had been busy stretching before his short program, pulled out an earphone as he turned to look at his fiancé. Victor had already shed his Russia jacket, and one look told Yuuri that he _knew_ how good he looked in his glittering black costume—his theme for his grand return to skating was “rebirth,” naturally; the “rising phoenix” he had for his free skate was nearly eye-searing. Yuuri shook his head with a smile as he resumed stretching.

                “Are you saying that as my coach or as my competitor?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing smile. His eyebrows rose as Victor set his hands on his hips.

                “As both, clearly. You need to angle your hips better,” Victor hummed, adjusting Yuuri before he could protest. His eyes flicked up. “I don’t want to win by default. You need to make me earn it,” he purred. Yuuri tried to ignore the shiver that went down his spine.

                “That’s assuming _you’re_ going to win,” he said, pulling away from Victor and giving him a smirk. “I think the next gold medal in our house will be _mine._ I mean, you’ve seen my program this year.”

“I _made_ your program.”

“Exactly. And besides,” Yuuri added, tilting his head and glancing sideways at Victor, “don’t you want to marry me?”

                “I could always marry you next year,” Victor pointed out, leaning in closer to Yuuri with a slow smile. “I may have to if you find yourself getting _distracted._ ”

                Yuuri let out a soft, breathy laugh, meeting Victor’s eyes dead-on. “You’re my coach. Shouldn’t you want me to win?”

                “Well, yes. As your coach, I want you to beat me by a landslide. But, as your competitor…” Victor leaned in even closer, nose brushing Yuuri’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “…I want to make you kiss _my_ gold medal.”

                “ _Neither of you assholes are going to win, so you can stop being gross!_ ”

                 Both Victor and Yuuri looked up from their conversation to see Yurio, in all his Agape glory, looking as though he were about to kick the both of them. He gave a huff.

                “If you get that disgusting again, I’m reporting you. This is _serious_ ,” he said, then stomped away.

                One moment passed, then another, and then the both of them burst into laughter.

                “I should get ready to go on,” Yuuri said, then smiled up at Victor before giving his cheek a pat. “давай-давай, Vitya. I’ll see you in the kiss and cry.”

                Victor caught his hand and gave his knuckles a kiss. “Make the crowd fall in love with you, Золотце.” He winked before letting him go. “You only make your Worlds debut once, you know.”


	23. Skate Camp Hasetsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Being Old Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was right and Thanksgiving/Black Friday kicked my ass. I'll be catching up over the next few days.
> 
> Also Yuuri and Victor are only ~55/59 in this, which isn't really OLD in normal people years. But in ice skater years, they're practically dead, so I figure it works.

                “Um, excuse me, Yuuri-sensei, but can we talk?”

                Yuuri turned curiously as he was addressed, then gave a smile to the young Japanese skater standing shyly in front of him.

                “Of course, Ikeda-san. Do you have another question on step sequences?”

                Ikeda shook his head. “No, it’s about…um…” He looked down, fiddling with his zipper before blurting out, “Is Coach Victor crazy?”

                “What?”

                “I-I mean, I know you’re married to him and all, but I just…I think…Sensei, he made me get smacked by a monk for an hour yesterday! And I think Marcel’s still under a waterfall somewhere!”

                Yuuri, brows furrowed, looked at Ikeda for a moment before letting out a long sigh and adjusting his glasses.

                “No, no. I know exactly what’s happening. I’ll go have a talk with him.” He nodded toward the spring’s entrance. “Go have a soak. I’ve heard it’s perfect after visiting the temple.”

                Ikeda bowed gratefully. “ _Thank you_ , sensei.”

                Yuuri waved him off, then sighed again as he started the trek down to Ice Castle Hasetsu. A few years after Yuuri’s retirement, they had the idea of hosting a skating camp during the off-season—young students practiced at the Ice Castle and slept (/recovered from Victor’s suggested field trips) at Yutopia. It was primarily Japanese students at first, but in the 25 years they’d become swamped with international students—at this point, the waitlist was almost three times longer than the acceptance list. Of course, they probably should have anticipated that after the first couple years; when you have a reputation of turning out gold medalists (and a friend who regularly launched _incredible_ social media campaigns), of course people would be clamoring to join. And really, how often did one get the chance to train with ice skating’s biggest power couple?

                Well, maybe that last bit was an overstatement these days—their successes were mainly on the sidelines, watching their students climb up through the rankings. (They co-coached, of course. The first year Yuuri coached, they tried to do it separately. It turned out that their competitiveness didn’t die down after retirement; things got so bad that _both_ of their students begged them to work together instead. Things were quite wonderful after that.)

                Yuuri reached the Ice Castle and stepped inside. He took a moment to watch the students run through their drills, smiling a bit before remembering his task. He found Victor standing on the sidelines, finger pressed to his lips as he watched them intently.

                “Vanya, your free leg’s getting sloppy,” he called. “And Etienne, try not to cut your turns so sharply. Five more minutes.”

                There was a collective groan from the group, but they did as he asked. As they worked, Yuuri cleared his throat. Victor looked up and immediately sent his husband a wide smile before kissing his forehead.

                “Yuuri! I thought you were taking care of the B group at the onsen.”

                “I was, until I spoke to Ikeda. Apparently you sent him to the temple?”

                “He’s talented, but he’s hardly inspired. I thought that would help!”

                “Because it worked so well for Yurio.”

                Victor gave Yuuri a small moue; despite the thinner hair and the few lines on his husband’s face, it was still cute enough to almost distract him from their talk. “The waterfall _did_ help Yurio. You can’t argue with me on that. And people can be inspired by anything.” He gave Yuuri a grin. “I had to convince Wesley that, despite your 2015 season, katsudon is _not_ an acceptable theme.”

                Yuuri smiled and shook his head, then tapped Victor’s chest. “No more temples. And go through me before sending the boys off to waterfalls.”

                Victor gave a dramatic sigh. “ _Fine._ You’re very lucky I can’t say no to you, _toshokan_.” He waited a moment, then leaned down to give Yuuri a kiss. There was a collective noise of disgust from the rink, and Victor looked up. “If I wanted an audience, I’d be on the ice,” he quipped. “Come on, finish your drills. If you can manage for five more minutes, we’ll go over jumps next.”

                The group quickly scrambled to complete their drills. Yuuri gave a little laugh. “Almost like having a family of eighteen kids, isn’t it?” He gave Victor one last kiss. “I’ll see you in a bit, Viten’ka. And remember, my group gets rink time at five.”

                As Yuuri made his way back to the onsen, he took a moment to look out at the sea. In some ways, things had hardly changed in the 30 years since he’d met Victor. Hasetsu was still small and sleepy, the seagulls still circled around the beach, and he was still just as smitten with his husband as he’d been the first time he’d seen him skate.

                And yet, look how far they’d come.

                Ah, but there wasn’t too much time for reminiscing. After all, he had some gold-medal winners to train—and one poor thirteen-year-old stuck at a waterfall to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year, they asked Yurio to join them as a coach in order to take on more students. He started off his first lesson with, "All right, shitheads, I'm here to make you all suck a little less," and proceeded to show a group of twelve-year-olds how to do a quad Salchow. He wasn't invited back in following years.


	24. Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dealing with Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another loose interpretation of the prompt. This is directly inspired by [stardropdream's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream) fic [Strange Darling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180841), which I think about at least once a week. I've always wanted to do an age-regression fic, so you guys get a whole one-shot instead of a ficlet.

                There’s no way for Victor to prepare for the Mishap when it happens. One moment, he glanced over his shoulder to tell Yuuri that they really ought to stop by the grocery store on the way home from the rink. When he glances back again, he finds a young boy standing where his fiancé had been not a second before, brown eyes wide and head swiveling about as he tried to figure out where he was. It takes Victor a full minute to register that this _is_ his fiancé, only much, much younger than he was a moment ago.

                Victor takes no time to marvel over seeing a tiny Yuuri; the priority right now is making sure Yuuri doesn’t freak out. He quickly turns and bends slightly to be on Yuuri’s level.

                “You’re safe, don’t worry,” he says, keeping his voice as even and soothing as possible. “I just need you to—”

                He’s cut off by little Yuuri sucking in the biggest gasp, hands going straight to his mouth. Then, all at once, he bowed.

                “ Здравствуйте! Очень приятно с вами познакомиться. Меня зовут Юри Кацуки. Я люблю твои катание!” he says in obviously very-practiced Russian, then looks up expectantly at Victor.

                Victor’s mouth twitches up in a little smile. So he was old enough to have become a fan, then. And he…apparently wasn’t all that phased to meet a 28-year-old Victor instead of a 16-year-old one. All the same, Victor holds out his hand for Yuuri to shake, which he does after a moment’s hesitation. He gives the boy a sunny smile. “Привет, Юри. Я твой тренер, Виктор.”

                Little Yuuri’s face changes, slowly, from wide-eyed excitement to a look of mild horror. _Ah_ , he’d probably only learned that introduction. Of course; Yuuri was only just learning Russian now, he wouldn’t know it at…whatever age this was.

                “Let’s stick with English,” he adds with a smile. _That_ he knows little Yuuri speaks at least conversationally, what with working at the onsen. “I understand a little Japanese, too, if that helps.”

                All at once, the look of wonder is back on little Yuuri’s face. “You speak _Japanese?!_ Why?”            

                Victor gives little Yuuri another wide smile. “Because here, in the future, I’m your coach.”

                “ _Eh?!_ Why are you my coach?”

                “Time travel is hard work. You must be starving. Why don’t I explain while we pick up some lunch?”

~

                On some level, Victor’s aware that he should be feeling a little upset. When his Mishap happened, Yuuri had been intensely bothered by it—he’d never said anything, of course, but the week after Victor came back was full of enough needy touches and desperate hugs that he figured it out. And _of course_ he wanted his fiancé back; he was already missing his Yuuri’s quiet steadiness.

                _But…_

                Well, it wasn’t fair, really. Yuuri knew _everything_ about Victor from before they met. Victor knew _nothing_ about his fiancé before he was 23, save for a few stories the Katsukis and Minako shared before getting stopped by an urgent “やめろ!!”from Yuuri. And Victor was naturally a very selfish man, so he couldn’t _help_ but be excited at the prospect of getting to know a much younger Yuuri.  

                Not that he’d gotten much of a chance to get to know him. For the past block, Yuuri had walked in stunned silence, apparently still caught off-guard by Victor casually mentioning he was his coach. As they waited at a crosswalk, though, little Yuuri quickly bowed.

                “I hope I’m doing well, Nikiforov-sensei,” he said, looking up over his glasses with creased brows. Victor laughed.

                “Nikiforov-sensei? Oh, no, we can’t have that. Just call me Victor.” He pressed a finger to his lips. While he did, of course, recognize that this was his Yuuri, it felt strange to just call him ‘Yuuri.’ He needed some signifier, for himself, to show that this wasn’t his fiancé. What did Mama Hiroko call him when they visited? “Would it be all right if I called you Yuuri-kun? Or maybe Yurenka—Yuri’s a Russian name, too, you know.”

                Little Yuuri’s eyes grew brighter. “You can call me whatever you want!” he said with a smile. Victor chuckled.

                “Let’s stick with Yuuri-kun; I think Ma—your mother won’t mind me using it for a bit.” He stuck his hands in his pockets as they crossed the street. “So how old are you now, Yuuri-kun?”

                “I’m twelve, though I’ll be thirteen in November.”

                _Twelve._ That number stuck in Victor’s head for some reason, but he couldn’t place why. Well, that was when Yuuri first saw him, of course, but there was some other event that Yuuri had mentioned. God, what an awful fiancé he was; he’d have to figure that out before Yuuri came back.

                He nodded, still trying to place the age. “And are you competing yet?”

                “I will be soon! My first novice competition is in two months.” He sent Victor a big smile. “And one day, I’m gonna break a world record, just like you did!”

                Victor can’t stop the warmth that builds in his chest as he smiles. “You will, Yuuri-kun. Don’t worry about that.”

~

                Yuuri at twelve is the most interesting person Victor had met, because he is _so_ unlike his Yuuri. Part of it, of course, is his age—twelve-year-olds are very rarely embarrassed, so Yuuri-kun made no attempt to hide his idol worship of his future-fiancé. But he was…sure of himself. Oh, he was still definitely Yuuri—unless he was prodded, he stayed quiet, and he had a little bit of a stress attack when they got to the restaurant and he realized he couldn’t read Cyrillic. But that overwhelming self-doubt was missing. So what had changed?

                “We both live here?”

                Victor’s brought back to earth by Yuuri-kun’s question. “Hm? Oh, yes, of course,” he answers easily. He looks down as Yuuri’s brow furrows again. “What is it?”

                “Do…all students live with their coaches?”

                _Ah._ Right. “Er, well…you let me stay with you in Hasetsu when I first became your coach, so we just got used to it. Besides, rent is high in St. Petersburg,” he says breezily as he unlocked the door. He’s saved from having to explain any further by Makkachin bounding at them the moment the door opens. She receives her daily pets and ear rubs from Victor, sniffs the bag with their lunch curiously, then lays her eyes on Yuuri. It takes one sniff before she jumps on him—on her hind legs, she’s nearly as tall as Yuuri-kun (Victor mentally coos over just how _tiny_ his fiancé used to be. When was his growth spurt? He'd have to ask when Yuuri came back)—and Yuuri’s laughing as she starts to lick him.

                “Is this the same poodle?” he asks, looking up at Victor as he pets her head. “Makkachin?”

                “Of course.” Victor leans down to give Makkachin’s side a pat before heading inside. He takes advantage of Yuuri petting and hugging the dog to turn every photo of him and his Yuuri around—he might have brought up their engagement if this Mishap was a little older, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm him. He seemed to have just recovered from finding out that Victor’s his coach; throwing a future marriage on the table might just kill the boy.

                “I have a poodle, too, though he’s not as big as Makkachin. We call him Vicchan, but his real name is—” Yuuri trails off, and Victor turns to catch the boy’s cheeks and ears go bright red. Victor melts, just a little bit, before setting their food on the table. Yuuri finally pulls away from Makkachin and wanders around the apartment. Victor lets him, watching with amusement as he reaches the medal display. Yuuri’s eyes immediately light up.

                “You’ll win _five_ Worlds?” he asks, whipping his head around so fast he needs to adjust his glasses. Victor smiles.

                “Yes, but don’t tell my sixteen-year-old self that if you meet him,” he says with a wink. “He’ll be _insufferable._ ”

                “ _Do I meet you?!_ ”

                Victor laughed as he wandered over to the display. “Well, eventually you do, otherwise I wouldn’t be your coach.”

                “How do we meet?” Yuuri asks eagerly.

                Victor immediately dodges that question. “We should eat while the food’s hot. Yurio has a habit of bursting in unannounced, and we’ll never hear the end of it if we eat pirozhki cold.”

                Yuuri pulls himself away from the wall with some difficulty; Victor catches his glimpse up at the one silver on the display, but he says nothing and neither does Victor.

                “Who’s Yurio?”

                “Another Yuri. You’ll probably meet him at the rink,” Victor says breezily.

                “The rink? So we’re…?”

                “We’re absolutely training. I’m your coach, after all.” He gives Yuuri another wink before serving him. “Let’s see if we can get you ready for your first competition.”

~

                “Can you assholes go _two months_ without one of you de-aging?”

                Victor gasps and immediately covers Yuuri’s ears. “Yuri Plisetsky, there is a _child_ present. You could at least swear in Russian.”

                Yurio rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He looks down at Yuuri with a frown. “So how old are you? Nine?”

                Yuuri stares at Yurio for a long moment, clearly intimidated, before he mumbles out, “I’m twelve.”

                Yurio’s eyes narrow as he looks over Yuuri, and he immediately smirks. “Bet you’ve never even done a _Salchow_.”

                “Yuri,” Victor starts warningly, but he’s surprised as Yuuri draws himself up to his full height, jaw set.

                “I can! And I can do a _double_ Axel!” he asserts. Both Yurio and Victor blink in surprise at the sudden competitive shift. A disbelieving—but somewhat proud?—little smile crosses Yurio’s face,  but Victor’s the first to break the silence.

                “Well, why don’t you show us?” he says with a grin. “I was going to have you show me your routine anyway.”

                Yuuri gives a quick nod, though his face immediately softens. “But…I don’t have my skates.”

                “We can find some in your size,” Victor assures. “It’s not ideal, but one practice in other skates won’t hurt you. Just be careful.”

                Victor can tell that Yuuri’s itching to get on the ice as he searches for a pair of boots in the boy’s size, and his heart can’t help but warm at little Yuuri’s devotion to the ice. Finally, he finds a pair of skates, and Yuuri gets them on and tied in record time. Victor offers to take his glasses, and he practically runs onto the ice.

                “Warm up first,” Victor calls, leaning against the barrier.

“And if he makes you stand under any waterfalls, I’ll kick him for you,” Yurio calls as he skates to the other end of the rink, before Yakov chides him for not paying attention. Yuuri gives a little giggle, but then he nods, sending Victor an excited grin before running through his warm ups. His figure-eights are sloppy, and he nearly loses his balance when he launches into a spin far too fast. Victor tells him so, but his voice is gentle: it’s obvious enough that he’s excited to perform in front of _Victor Nikiforov._

                Finally, Victor tells him to go ahead with his routine. To his surprise, Yuuri stops and stands awkwardly.

                “Er…I don’t have my music with me,” he says sheepishly. “My CD’s back…home.”

                Victor smiles. “That’s fine. I know you have a knack for musicality; just hear the song in your head as you perform it.”

                Yuuri nods, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s, um, it’s called ‘Rev..Revelry for Violin’? I think? I forget who it’s by.”

                All at once, Victor freezes. _Oh._ Suddenly he remembers why twelve sticks so strongly in his brain. Yuuri had told him about his competitive debut while they’d been training.

                “It was _awful_ ,” he’d said. “I completely froze up the minute I got onto the ice. Missed my cue to start, flubbed just about every jump…I still can’t listen to that ‘Revelry’ song anymore. Honestly, I almost quit then and there.”

                Suddenly, Victor understands why this Yuuri has so little self-doubt—there’s nothing to doubt himself for yet. He has all of his Yuuri’s competitiveness without the sting of failure tempering it. What had been cute and interesting thus far suddenly became tragic; Yuuri-kun had no idea what he’s in for.

                “Victor?”

                Victor looks up as Yuuri says his name, and for a split-second he sees an expression he’s seen all too often on his own Yuuri’s face. _Watch me, please_ , it said. _I want you to see me._

                Victor sends him the sunniest smile he can. “Well? You _are_ going to show me your routine, aren’t you, Yurenka?”

                Yuuri breaks out in a big smile and nods, then strikes his beginning pose. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. Then, he begins to skate.

                As far as routines go, it’s not terribly ground-breaking. The step-sequence is simplistic, and Yuuri flubs his two big jumps.           Victor was doing far more complex things at twelve.

                And yet…he can’t pull his eyes away. As he does many years in the future, Yuuri follows the music in his head seamlessly, and the sheer joy on the boy’s face as he skates is enough to make Victor’s eyes sting. There’s nothing at stake; there’s nothing to prove. This Yuuri is skating for the sheer joy of it.

                _God_ , if only Victor could give that back to his fiancé.

                He slows his spin and enters his final pose, breathing hard and looking at Victor expectantly. Victor waits a beat, then another. All at once, he turns back toward the locker room.

                “Wait! Victor! Was it…was it bad?”

                Victor blinks and quickly turns back around, giving Yuuri a bright grin. “For your first time showing it to me, it was pretty good. But why don’t I get my skates on and we clean it up?”

                It won’t matter, Victor knows. Yuuri-kun likely won’t remember any of this when he gets home; he’ll still choke in his first competition. But _god_ , the smile that spreads across his face made it worth it.

~

                Apparently Yuuri’s stamina came after his growth spurt, because Yuuri-kun is _exhausted._ They’d put in quite a few hours in cleaning up his routine, and Victor had helped him easily land his jumps. (Yurio had tried to help, too. “Come on, _Yurenka,_ ” he’d said, voice simultaneously mocking and not. _“_ If you’re really twelve, you can _totally_ do a quad.” Both Yakov and Victor told him off for that.)

                But now, on the bus ride back to their flat, Yuuri’s head is bobbing, and all at once Victor feels a very light weight on his shoulder. He glances down to find Yuuri fast asleep against him, and his heart warms. Certainly, his Yuuri sleeps against him all the time, but this time it’s different. When his Yuuri does it, Victor wants to touch and memorize and revel in the fact that he found such a wonderful man to spend his life with. But with Yuuri-kun, he stays very still and is a little more on alert. He wants to keep this Yuuri safe: safe from the strangers around them, safe from the failure that was looming just around the corner for him, safe from the doubt and anxiety that would color his skating from here on out.

                He has to wake Yuuri up for their stop, and after his initial, bleary ‘何？”, he pinks as he realizes he’s been sleeping against _Victor Nikiforov_. He gets to his feet and keeps a bit of distance as they walk; Victor doesn’t say anything except to comment on how cold it was and how winter is much better in Hasetsu. Yuuri keeps steadfastly silent until they reach the flat.

                Victor looks through menus and quietly despairs over the fact that he may have to resort to his own meager cooking talents if Yuuri’s gone for too long—there’s no saying how long a Mishap will last, after all. It could be a few hours, or it could be weeks. Yuuri said that his Mishap had been about two weeks, though it felt much shorter on his end. Yuuri-kun is stretched out on the floor beside Makkachin, squishing her face gently.

                “Victor?” he finally asks, voice soft.

                “Mm?”

                “Do you ever…worry? About performing?”

                Victor looks up. “Now? Not very much. The me you’re used to seeing does, though.”

                Yuuri props himself up on his elbow. “Really?”

                “Of course. I had a lot on my shoulders after breaking that record.” He pulls a few menus out from his stack and sits on the floor beside Yuuri. “Help me pick what we get, Yurenka.”

                Yuuri takes a menu and looks over it absently. “I get worried. That’s why I messed up my jumps.” The confession is just barely loud enough to be a whisper, and his brow creases as he returns to Makkachin’s face. “I try not to get too bothered. But…” He swallows as he rubs Makka’s ears. “What happens if I mess up like that in front of the judges?”

                “Then you pick yourself up and continue,” Victor said easily. He glances down to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “You think I came out of the womb winning golds?”

                “Yes.”

                “ _No._ I failed a lot, especially when I was your age. But the choices were either to quit or to pick myself up and continue. I loved the ice too much to quit.” He smiled a bit. “And I think you do, too. You certainly do in the future.”

                Yuuri nods eagerly. “I want to be the best.” He swallows, disappointment shadowing his face. “And even if all I get is a silver, it's okay so long as I tried my best.”

                _Ah._ So he _had_ seen the medal. Victor waits a moment, then gets to his feet.

                “Come on, Yurenka, I have something to show you.”

                What he was about to do was _probably_ something he _really shouldn’t._ But if Yuuri didn’t remember, then it didn’t hurt time or anything, right? So he opened the door to their mostly-unused guest room and guided a very curious Yuuri inside.

                There were several posters of himself, scavenged from Yuuri’s room. But, along the far wall, was one of the posters Victor had managed to grab from the GPF. There was _his_ Yuuri in all his Eros glory: arms outstretched, face focused, looking like he was on top of the world. It was Victor’s absolute favorite skating photo of Yuuri, and he smiles as he glances down at Yuuri-kun, who stares up at the poster in complete awe. His eyes dart between his future self’s face and the large “YURI KATSUKI” beside him.

                “That’s… _me?_ ” Yuuri-kun sounds incredulous, and he looks up at Victor as he points at the poster. “That’s me?”

                Victor nods. “It took a little help from everyone—including your excellent coach—but that skater up there is what you’ll become.” He smiles warmly at Yuuri. “I know you get nervous. Sometimes other people won’t take that into consideration; sometimes it’ll happen at awful times. But if you don’t pick yourself up, you’ll never get here.” He winks. “And, even worse, I’d never get the chance to be your coach.”

                Yuuri stands in silence, eyes wide as they remain glued to the poster. Victor worries, suddenly, that he might have done too much to the space-time continuum, and he quietly freaks out over whether he broke his fiancé across timelines or not. Then, all at once, Yuuri turns and silently wraps his arms tightly around Victor.

                This, Victor realizes, is exactly the same way his Yuuri hugs him now.

                 He doesn’t quite return the hug—this Yuuri is a child, so he’s not quite sure how to respond aside from setting a hand on his head. The hug is over as quickly as it starts, and Yuuri looks back up at the poster with wide eyes.

                “Isn’t that your costume?” he finally asks.

                “Yes. I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but you used it for necessity and we just…never changed it.”

                “Mm. I think it looks better on me.”

                Victor laughs and gives Yuuri’s head a little push. “I give you one pep talk and suddenly you’re full of yourself! What a disaster of a coach I am!”

                Yuuri giggles as well, the sound musical in the quiet room and quickly interrupted by Yuuri’s growling stomach. “Can we…get some food?”

                “I suppose. Though we’re getting _my_ favorite, thanks to your sass.”

~

                Yuuri is Yuuri, Victor finds, no matter what age he is. Just like their talk on the beach, this talk had brought down the wall that had been separating them. Yuuri-kun is much more talkative over dinner. In-between asking Victor various questions about his Juniors career and personal life at sixteen, he tells him that he’s just started middle school and all about his ballet teacher Minako and one year he’d _really, really_ like to have a piece of music created just for one of his routines but also he wants to do a free skate themed after the Matrix because—has Victor seen the Matrix? Oh, okay, good.—because it’s _really cool_.

                 Victor simply smiles and listens, soaking up the wonder that is a young, uninhibited Yuuri. Again, he feels a twinge of guilt for not missing his Yuuri as much as he should. He _wants_ his Yuuri back, of course; at his edges, he can feel loneliness creeping up on him without his Yuuri there to touch and hold and be reassured that he’s _there_.

But at the same time, this Yuuri is so painfully unaware of his future and so hopeful and so _pure_. Victor wants to keep this Yuuri safe from the world. The moment he’s gone, he’s once again left to the wild.

                He doesn’t have all that long, though, to dwell on the duality of Katsuki Yuuri, because the Katsuki Yuuri in front of him is nodding off at the table. Victor’s heart warms for the eighteenth time that day, and as gently as he can, he scoops the boy up in his arms—Yuuri-kun is so tiny, it takes hardly any effort.

                “I’m not doing this every day of your visit, okay, Yurenka?” he jokes to a 90% asleep Yuuri as he carries him to the bedroom—Victor will take the sofa, of course; that seems to be Mishap etiquette—and sets him on the bed. Yuuri wakes up slightly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes to look blearily at Victor.

                “Nan—er, what?” He looks around with sleepy eyes. “Do I have to go to sleep?”

                “You were already going to sleep. I just gave you somewhere comfortable to do it.”

                Yuuri’s brows crease. “I can stay up! I just needed to…to rest for a bit, but I’m fine now!”

                Victor sent him a strange look. “You need to rest far longer than that if you want to keep practicing tomorrow.”

                “No, I know myself! We can stay up and talk!”  

                “ _Yuuri_ ,” Victor says in his best coach voice, and Yuuri picks at the blanket anxiously.

                “If I go to sleep, this is going to be over,” he finally says in a tiny voice. “I’m not ready to go back.”

                “Well, we don’t know that. You could be here for a couple weeks!” Victor chirps. Yuuri-kun’s look doesn’t lighten, and Victor sets a hand on his head. “If you go back, it’s because you need to. And anyway, if you stay too long, you won’t be ready for your competition. No competition means no skating career, and then how will we meet?”

                Yuuri swallows, and he looks up at Victor with big eyes. “When do we meet? Is it soon?”

                Not soon enough, but Victor merely says, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” and adds a wink for good measure. Yuuri nods quietly. Then, all at once—because that’s the way that Yuuri is—he launches himself at Victor and wraps his arms tightly around him again. He trembles slightly, and Victor is quick to return the hug this time.

                “Victor?”

                “Yes?”

                “I…I want you to be my coach forever.”

                Victor’s heart melts, and he gives Yuuri a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, Yuuri-kun. I will be.” He lets go of Yuuri and winks. “On the condition that you go to sleep.”

                Yuuri sends him a bright smile, and this time he does settle down. Victor gives him an “おやすみ” before shutting off the light and closing the door.

                This is probably the only time in their entire relationship that Yuuri will fall asleep before Victor, so Victor takes advantage of it and makes notes on what he needs to do with a twelve-year-old in the house. Logistically, Yuuri had a much easier time; Victor’s sixteen-year-old self fit into just about all of his work out clothes, but there’s absolutely _nothing_ Yuuri-kun can fit into. He could maybe ask Yurio, but even _he’_ s too tall. Could he work in a trip to the store now? Did Yuuri have school to worry about? He actually went to school, so he probably had homework and…

                His thoughts are broken by the creak of their bedroom door. He smiles a bit.

                “Yurenka, I hope this is a good reason to put my future coaching on the line,” he says, though before he can turn, two arms slide over his shoulders, and slow, desperate kisses are pressed to his temple.

                That was _not_ Yuuri-kun.

                Victor looks up, the loneliness just settling in now fully banished as his fiancé cupped his face to kiss him. Victor smiles into the kiss, and when he finally pulls away, he reaches up to rub his thumb against Yuuri’s cheek.

                “Hopefully we got all these Mishaps out of our system,” he says. Yuuri manages a shaky laugh, and Victor takes a moment to see if he can find the Yuuri he’d spent all day with in his Yuuri. He pushes a hand through his fiancé’s hair, and Yuuri climbs over the sofa, too impatient to walk around, and presses himself into Victor’s arms. Victor’s all too happy to oblige, pulling Yuuri as close as he can and resting his cheek against his soft hair. This is a Yuuri who’s gone through everything looming ahead for Yuuri-kun. Less confident, less sure of himself, yes, but one who had come so much farther than he ever thought he could.

                “So? Did one day of me coaching you help your competitive debut? Am I suddenly engaged to eight-time World Champion Katsuki Yuuri?”

                Yuuri laughs, the sound lighting up the room. “You know that’s not how it works.”

                “Ah, then we’ll just have to manage that in the next few years. You know, your twelve-year-old self was disappointed that you don’t have a gold. We’ll just have to do it for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Здравствуйте! Очень приятно с вами познакомиться. Меня зовут Юри Кацуки. Я люблю твои катание! - Hello! I'm very glad to meet you. My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I love your skating!
> 
> Привет, Юри. Я твой тренер, Виктор. - Hello, Yuuri. I'm your coach, Victor.
> 
> 何？ - What?
> 
> Also, for what it's worth [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdKTdGHiBbM&ab_channel=Quistys) is the song I was thinking of for Yuuri's routine. I doubt Emilie Autumn's used very often for Japanese skating routines, but it had the sound I was looking for.
> 
> おやすみ - Good night


	25. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: TRYING to seduce the other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very tired.

                At this point, if you looked up the word “surprise” in the dictionary, you would just find a picture of Victor Nikiforov’s face. (In fact, Urban Dictionary’s first entry for “surprise” is literally just “Victor Nikiforov (Russian Ice Skater).”) And his love for surprises wasn’t at all restricted to the ice: “Surprise!” could equally mean a bouquet of roses, two tickets for a spontaneous trip to Napoli, a lazy hand drifting downward, a heavily-burned dinner, or a texted picture of Makkachin looking particularly cute. So, in a strange kind of way, Victor’s habit of giving ‘surprises’ to Yuuri meant that he could never see what was coming.

                So when Yuuri got a text saying, _I’ve got a surprise waiting for you at home, Yurenka!_ ♡♡, from Victor, he cut his errand run short to find out what it could be. While Yuuri likes surprises well enough, he’d found that he does _not_ like the anticipation of knowing he was about to be surprised.

                When he got back to his apartment, he took a deep breath to brace himself for whatever would be on the other side of that door. Could be dinner from his favorite place, could be five new puppies. He let out his breath, then opened the door.

                “I’ve been waiting, Yuuri.”

                Yuuri blinks, eyes trying to adjust to the dimmed lights in their apartment. “Victor, what are you…”

                Oh.

                _Oh._

                Where their coffee table had been that morning, a pole now stood, and a 90% naked Victor Nikiforov was posed against it. Yuuri’s eyes darted all over his husband, unsure of where to land, until Victor sidled forward, head tilted coquettishly, and took his chin.

                “It wasn’t fair that I was the only one to get a pole dance,” he murmured, pressing his thumb against Yuuri’s lips. “So you sit and enjoy, _toshokan_ , and I’ll give you all the Eros I’ve got.”

                Yuuri’s heartbeat quickened, and he stared slack-jawed at Victor for a full thirty seconds before he nodded dumbly and practically fell onto the sofa. God, just imagine what Victor would look like on that pole. If he was so beautiful—no, so _sexy_ —on the ice, then he would be _marvelous_ in here. Yuuri was already taking a mental note of which space in the living room would be most comfortable if they couldn’t make it to the bed.

                Victor slunk back to the pole, eyes practically glowing in the soft light. He gave Yuuri a slow smile as he pulled himself up, throwing his head back to show off the long, pale line of his throat, then began to lift his leg.

                Well, _tried_ to lift his leg. He seemed to be having some trouble keeping a hold on the pole as he did so.

                “Hang on, I’ve got this.” Victor swung the other leg up, apparently trying to use momentum to get them both up.

                “Er, do you want me to show…”

                “ _No!_ I had YouTube and Chris all day telling me how to do this. I can do it.”

                With a  triumphant noise, Victor got both legs up the pole, and he sent Yuuri a sultry look as he wrapped them around it. Slowly, he let go, arching his back as he leaned away from the pole…

                …and yelping as he slipped right off of it.

                “ _Victor!_ ”

                “I’m fine! It’s fine!” Victor was back on his feet before Yuuri could even move. “It’s just…I’m still warming up. I’ll get it!” He grabbed the pole again, though this time he wasn’t sending Yuuri any sultry looks; he had his competition face on now.

                Yuuri changed his trajectory—instead of looking for places for if they got impatient, now he was looking for places he could easily move Victor when he inevitably got a concussion from trying to pole dance. It wasn’t the least bit sexy at this point. Victor was raw determination, swinging himself up only to slide down but refusing to be beat. Yuuri relaxed in his seat with a sigh, watching him for a few minutes, before he got up.

                “Vitya, let me show you,” he said, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. Victor pouted as he shucked off his jeans.

                “I do all this work and you want to show me up? How rude.”

                “I’m not showing you up. I’m showing you what to do.”

                Victor waited for a moment, then sighed and let go. Yuuri immediately pulled himself up to the top of the pole, then slid down easily. He pulled himself back up, pressing his legs against either side of the pole to keep himself horizontal.

                “See? The power’s in your thighs, not your calves.”

                “I could have figured that out.” 

                “Your abs need to be _incredible,_ too,” Yuuri said as he pushed his legs out and held himself in the air.

                “Like yours?”

                “Better. Mine are passable,” Yuuri said with a shrug as he pulls back onto the pole. He swings himself upside down and smiles at Victor. “With a bit more practice, you’ll get it.”

                Victor sighed. “But that’s so much _work._ ” He leaned down to lightly brush his nose against Yuuri’s. “Unless you’re willing to be my teacher?”

                Yuuri rolled his eyes with a smile. “I guess I can do that on occasion.”

                “Great! That was the second surprise, actually. I got _two_ poles. One for each of us!”

                “Mm.” Yuuri smiled, then reached up to pull Victor’s head down toward him. “Well, there’s plenty of time for that. For now, why don’t you show me what you had planned for _after_ your performance?”

                Victor’s eyes widened, and he grinned. “I suppose I can manage that.”


	26. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special prompt for November 29: Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm celebrating Yuuri's birthday (a little late, due to skeletons and celebrating Yuuri's birthday in public) with a special little ficlet. Happy birthday to everyone's favorite skating disaster <3

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you a present.”

                Victor says this very softly hours after their meeting in the airport; between Yuuri still being on Russian time and Victor drinking entirely too much coffee as he waited for Yuuri’s plane, neither of them would be sleeping tonight. So they sat in the quiet lounge of the onsen, legs (and Makkachin) tucked up under a kotatsu as they’d discussed what happened the Rostelecom Cup. At first, Yuuri assumes he’s talking about giving him something (probably a pity present) for just barely making it into the Grand Prix. He realizes after a solid minute that a) Victor’s talking about a birthday present, and b) it’s now Yuuri’s birthday.

                “Oh! No, you shouldn’t even worry about something like that,” Yuuri assures quickly, waving his hand. “I mean, it’s not like coaches give their students presents…”

                “Yakov does,” Victor hums, resting his chin in his hand. “Usually boring practical ones, but still.”

                Yuuri smiles a bit at the thought, then shakes his head. “It’s really fine. The only thing I do for my birthday is have katsudon regardless of whether I’ve won or not.” He raises his eyebrows as he looks up at Victor. “Do…you do anything special for birthdays?”

                “If I’m in St. Petersburg, I’ll throw a party or something, but I’m usually travelling.” Victor makes a face. “But it’s hard if I’m abroad. Everyone’s off celebrating Christmas instead of the _real_ holiday.”

                “Oh, your birthday’s a holiday?”

                “ _Obviously._ ”

                Yuuri laughs, then looks down at his hands as he fiddles with the kotatsu’s cloth. “You know, I have _one_ thing I do. Every year, I ask myself what I want from this next year.”

                “Mm?”

                Yuuri nods, and his cheeks pink, just a touch. “I always knew what I wanted, but I also knew I wouldn’t get it. But by last year, it was just a habit to hope for it.” His eyes flicked up to Victor. “But this year…I don’t know what to ask for, since I finally got what I wanted.”

                Victor smiles, meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “And what did you ask for?”

                “You.”

                Victor sits up straight, and Yuuri immediately ducks his head as he goes red. “I mean…that sounds a little…what I wanted was for you to notice me. But more than that…I wanted you to know who I was _here_ , that I wanted to be just as good as you are, that we could be…”

                “Friends?” Victor says this word with some difficulty.

                “Equals.” Yuuri presses his lips together. “And…well, we’re still coach and student, but…the way you talk to me, the way you look at me…I feel like we’re finally on the same level.” A slow smile spread across his face. “And I’m _happy._ I’m _so_ happy. So much that I have no idea what to hope for this year. I’m just…glad my wish came true.”

                He looks up at Victor, whose face has softened into something so gentle his heart ached. Victor reaches forward and takes his hand, pulling it up to kiss it. It isn’t the quick kiss at the airport—he keeps Yuuri’s knuckles against his lips, pressing soft kisses all the way across. When he reaches his little finger, he sighs and quietly presses his cheek against Yuuri’s hand. All at once, things click—they most certainly aren’t just teacher and student anymore, but the progress was so natural that Yuuri hadn’t thought about it once until now.

                “I’m glad it did, too,” Victor finally whispers, opening his eyes to look at Yuuri. “If you won’t make a wish, then can I?”

                Yuuri’s eyes flutter at the hesitance in Victor’s voice as he asks to take Yuuri’s wish, and he nods. “Of course.”

                “Then I wish you could be this happy for every single one of your birthdays.” Victor smiles, turning to kiss Yuuri’s palm. “And I hope, more than anything, that I get to be there for each of them.”

                _Oh._

                Things are definitely in place now. But, while playing out this scenario in his head had filled him with anxiety before, things were so natural that he wasn’t even surprised at Victor’s wish. Very gently, he moves his hand to cup Victor’s face, meeting his eyes warmly as Victor immediately leans into the touch.

                “That’s…a much better wish than I could have come up with,” he says with a small smile. Victor gives him a wide grin.

                “I’m good at wishes. Though, since there’s still time, I’m going to add a GPF gold to your birthday wish as well. I’m still your coach, after all.”

                “Oh, definitely,” Yuuri agrees with a laugh. But he knows better now. Victor is _here_ , Victor is his coach, but he’s _so, so_ much more.

                And Yuuri hopes, more than anything, that his wish comes true.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been distracted by both work and Coco for the past few days, so bear with me as I try and finish all the prompts tomorrow.


	27. Vicchan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doing chores/Interacting with Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting two prompts together because they worked so nicely. Also, not gonna finish this before midnight, but by God, you all will get thirty ficlets.

                Yuuri had been right—shortly after the debacle with Makkachin’s bath, Victor was more or less an honorary Katsuki and put to work. Yuuri offered to just pick up his chores, but Victor flatly refused. Granted, it wasn’t hard work—changing sheets and putting out towels, mostly, along with a weekly scrub of the lounge and bath. For the most part, Yuuri was the one helping him, but every now and again, Hiroko would ask that he help her in the kitchen (usually when Yuuri had been pushed to exhaustion and needed to hide for a bit.)

                Victor was a disaster in the kitchen, and he fully knew it. But he _was_ good at dishes, so he would wash the pans that Hiroko was finished with. Every now and again, she trusted him enough to cut some vegetables.

                “Just slice the radish a _little_ thinner. Yes, perfect, Vicchan!” was the usual instruction and praise combination, with some variation in vegetable and slice-size. But “Vicchan” was a constant. “Vicchan, could you reach that bottle?” or “Ah! Such lovely folding, Vicchan!” or “Vicchan, could you go get Yuuri-kun for me? He’ll listen if it’s you calling him.”

                Victor had always liked nicknames—a side effect of studying under Yakov, probably—and, as much as he loved being called Vitya by those closest to him, Vicchan was _so cute._ But he wondered over how Hiroko had a nickname like that so ready for him; “Victor” was _not_ a typical Japanese name.

                So he asked Yuuri.

                Yuuri went the reddest Victor had ever seen him get.

                “It’s…well, I mean, ‘Victor’ can be hard to say, so…” Yuuri swallowed hard, looking up at Victor with his lips pressed tightly together. He winced, then blurted out, “It’s what we called my dog!”

                Victor blinked. “Your…dog?”

                Yuuri made the face he always made when he thought he said something Victor wouldn’t like. (Victor was fascinated by that face; Yuuri always looked like he simultaneously wanted to bolt away and like he was about to be sick.) He looked away and fiddled with a hole in his shirt. “I…I had a poodle, he died a while ago. Right before last year’s Final, actually.”

                Victor’s eyes widened as his heart melted in his chest. “Do you have photos of him?”

                Yuuri glanced up, then pressed his lips together before nodding.

                “Here, we need to dust out the room, anyway. I’ll show you his shrine.”

                Victor followed Yuuri wordlessly, eyes wide. He’d known that Yuuri had had a dog, but he lost him so recently? God, Victor couldn’t even imagine life without Makkachin; how did Yuuri manage?

                “Um, here.” He guided Victor to kneel in front of the little shrine, then pointed at the picture of him—so young!—with a little brown fluffball in his hands. “That’s him.”

                Victor immediately gasped as he leaned in to get a better look. “He’s _perfect!_ He looks just like a tiny Makka!”

                Yuuri laughed lightly. “That’s…that’s why I got him,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was right after you’d gotten Makkachin, and I…well, I wanted to be like you.” His smile widened as he looked at the picture. “He was the best dog I could have asked for, though. He always seemed to know when I’d had a bad day on the ice…or at school…or anywhere, really. So when I came home after he died…it didn’t feel right.”

                “Was that why you did so badly last year?” Victor asked softly, leaning forward to touch the little dog tags beside the photo. Yuuri immediately froze up beside him.

                “Um…well, partly.” He sighed, looking at the ground. “I know I shouldn’t have let it get to me. I hadn’t seen him in years, actually. But…”

                “I wouldn’t have even been able to go onto the ice if anything happened to Makka,” Victor said quietly. “I’m impressed you could perform at all.” He looked up at Yuuri with warm eyes. “I hope I can live up to my namesake.”

                Instead of smiling, Yuuri pressed his lips together as he made The Face again. “Actually…it’s…the other way around.”

                “Hm?”

                Ah, there was the blush again. “His full name was Victor. I named him after you,” he whispered.

                Victor blinked several times, vaguely aware that The Face was only growing more intense. But one thought kept going through his head, so much that he finally blurted it out.

                “You named _your dog_ after me?”

                “I know, it’s probably _really_ disresp—”

                “And you didn’t _tell me?!”_ Victor pressed his hands to his heart—which, he was sure, was a puddle in his ribcage at this point—as he looked up at Yuuri. “I can’t imagine a better honor than having a dog—especially a wonderful dog like Vicchan—named after me. _Thank you_.”

                Yuuri stared at him for a long moment, brain trying to catch up to what had just happened. Finally, a small smile broke out on his face.

                “I’m…I’m really glad you like that.” He laughed a bit. “My mother will be, too. I don’t think she could stop calling you Vicchan at this point.”

                “I don’t want her to _ever_ stop!” Victor exclaimed brightly. Then, after a moment, he decided to test the waters. “You can call me Vicchan, too. If you think I measure up to him, that is.”

                Yuuri laughed and shook his head. “I’m not calling my _coach_ Vicchan.” He smiled warmly at Victor. “But thanks.” He looked back at the altar. “I just need a moment, then we can get to work.”

                “I can leave if you want. If you don’t want me…” There was a neater English word for ‘barging into your personal moment with your dead dog,” but Victor couldn’t immediately think of it. “…if you don’t want me bothering you.”

                Yuuri shook his head, leaning forward to light a stick of incense. “Like I said, it’s just a few seconds.”

                Victor watched quietly as Yuuri knelt his head and went silent for a long moment. It felt…special that he was allowed to see this. He should probably think of a way to thank Yuuri for letting him into this moment, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine how to phrase that in Russian, much less in English.

                His face was soft as Yuuri lifted his head and smiled at him. “Well, we won’t get any work done if we just sit here.” Yuuri got to his feet, then held out a hand to help Victor up. “Let me show you where the supplies are.”

                Victor smiled as he followed Yuuri out of the room, glancing back once at the little shrine to Vicchan. He had a lot to live up to with this name, and he would do everything he could to manage that.

 


	28. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Moving In Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess if you're subscribing to the notion of time, it's December 1st. But time is relative and, in my mind, it's not December 1st until I go to sleep.

                Yuuri feels horribly, horribly out of place in Victor’s apartment.

                He wasn’t prepared for it be so neat. He wasn’t prepared for the clean, modern furniture, or the open floor plan, or…whatever it was those lights were in the kitchen. This apartment is essentially the home-version of Victor Nikiforov, the Living Legend of Russia—clean, bright, and impeccably put together.

                It takes all of Yuuri’s willpower not to dump all of his belongings into the garbage downstairs. Because where would it fit? Where would _he_ fit? He had it on good authority (Phichit) that he was a good roommate, but this was… _a lot._

                “You brought so little, Золотце! Are you planning on having the rest of your things shipped over?” Victor calls as he brings in the second box of Yuuri’s things, Makkachin bouncing up to get a good sniff of the box. He grins at Yuuri, only to have it drop a moment later. “Yuuri?”

                With a decent amount of effort, Yuuri pulls himself out of his head enough to respond. “Ah…you know, we really don’t need to put this stuff up. It won’t…it looks like you’ve already got a…a set way of doing things. I don’t want to intrude.”

                Victor laughs as he steps into the living area. “You can’t intrude on your own home.” He sets the box down and opens it up before Yuuri can protest, and he laughs as he pulled out the worst possible thing he could have pulled out.

                “How adorable!” he coos, holding up the little wooden pig that Yuuri _really should have thrown out because he didn’t even like it that much_. “We should put him in here!”

                “Oh, we don’t have to…” he starts, but Victor’s already set it on the coffee table, where it stares Yuuri down as Victor goes through the box. A globe comes out, along with a little solar toy of a poodle that wagged its tail and…

                “ _Oh!_ ” Victor immediately hugs the hamster plush to him. “Was this from your skate?”

                “It’s…it was a goodbye present from Phichit, actually,” Yuuri answers stiffly. “After I graduated. But those can go…”

                “I know just the place for them!” Victor chirps, gathering up the ( _stupid!_ ) toys into his arms. Yuuri wonders if he can force an aneurysm and end this embarrassment before it begins. He watches silently as Victor pulls out a few books from his bookshelf and starts arranging things. Yuuri finally finds his voice.

                “Victor, seriously, if they’re not going to work in this room, we don’t need to force it. You already have a…a set style. I don’t want to ruin that.”

                Victor paused, looking up at Yuuri curiously. “What style?”

                “This…I don’t know, this whole modern, pale colors thing. It’s very… _you_. And all this is very… _not,”_ he says, gesturing to the boxes in front of them. He leaves out his main worry: _I’m not going to fit in your life_.

                Victor blinks, then looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow. You’re right.”

                Yuuri grimaces. He knew he was.

                “It looks like an operating room in here.” He smiles a bit as he finds a good place for the pig. “All practicality, no life.” He picks up the hamster and looks it over for a moment. “You know, when I was growing up, my mother always complained that I didn’t _live_ at our house. It was more like I was just wasting time between practices.”

Yuuri is caught completely off-guard by Victor mentioning his mother. He’d never said anything about his family, even after they’d gotten engaged. Before he could figure out a proper, husband-to-be way to respond, Victor continues.

“And she was right, both then and right up until I left for Hasetsu.” He carefully fits the hamster into the shelf, then leans down to grab his matryoshka dolls, setting them in front of the little display he’s created. “But now, home gets to be more than somewhere to spend my time off the rink.” He grins as he gestures at the shelf, where the pig and hamster peer out from behind the matryoshkas. It’s whimsical and lovely and _so_ not a part of the flat. But…Yuuri kind of loves it. And, from what he can see, Victor does, too.

                “Now, this gets to be a place for _us_.” He sets his hands on his hips as he looks at his handiwork. “And I think this is a good start.”

                Yuuri looks up at his fiancé, then nods with a smile. “We should find more of your gifts from people. I’m sure Chris has given you plenty.”

                “Well, yes, but they’re not exactly things to _display._ Yurio would be scarred for life if he saw _those_ on a bookshelf.”

                “Point taken.”


	29. The Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Falling in Love

                Yuuri could pinpoint the exact moment he became infatuated with Victor Nikiforov. He was twelve years old, sitting in Ice Castle Hasetsu with Yuuko and Takeshi, and Yuuko had insisted they watch the last bit of the Junior GPF. She had been a Victor follower for a long time, and she had complained that there was _no way_ she’d be able to watch him skate at home. So the three of them sat and watched the skaters perform thousands of miles away.

                They announced Victor Nikiforov on the screen; Yuuko screamed, Takeshi rolled his eyes, and Yuuri leaned forward, curious to see what made him so special. Sure, he had all the confidence of a sixteen-year-old athlete, and he was beautiful to look at, but so were a lot of people on TV. Why bother?

                Then Victor stepped onto the ice, and Yuuri was caught in Victor’s spell from then on out.

                With that kind of love, it was easy to find a starting point. This love, though, this was different.

                Yuuri _can_ say where he started seeing Victor as a person rather than a living legend. It was a little more gradual—seeing his idol hungover and jetlagged and spend an hour with rice on his cheek certainly tarnished a little of Victor’s perfect image—but the defining moment was at the beach. This was, surprisingly, a team effort. It was enough for Victor to meet him where he was and lay out that he was willing to be whatever Yuuri needed; but that was where Yuuri realized he _didn’t_ want Skating Legend Victor Nikiforov—he wanted just Victor, in any way that came naturally. From then on, he was _real._

                But that still didn’t quite give him a starting point for this love.

                Eros? Was that worth mentioning? Because that was a long time ago, but Yuuri can still remember a definite starting point—he was sixteen and laying in the darkness of his room. His mother called him a late bloomer; Minako-sensei called him “too damn shy”. Regardless, there hadn’t been anyone in Hasetsu who he had thought about romantically, much less been approached by. But there, in the darkness, he stares at one of his posters of Victor—long-haired and lovely with half-parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes—and he thinks, _God, what if?_

                He scares himself that night with his body’s reaction to that thought. Later, it’s just another facet of his on-going infatuation.

                But that’s not the same, either.

                This love is…calm. It’s not clipping out interviews in a frenzy or frantic, hushed breaths in the dark or trying to reconcile the imagined Victor with the real one. It fills him easily, and it rests on him like a heavy blanket. It’s simultaneously been growing since Victor’s arrival and hits him all at one time. This love has the certainty that it’s right, it’s good, and it won’t leave him. He starts to figure it out by the way he trails Victor now—not as someone desperate to be noticed by a skating god, but rather someone who knows that his place is with Victor.

                There’s no one point where he fell in love with Victor, but there’s a point where he realizes he’s been in love with Victor—the real one, the one that’s nothing like the Victor he idolized for years—for a while now. It is—and it kills Yuuri that it took him this long—when Victor kisses him right on the ice, in front of thousands of viewers. By all accounts, that was a combination that should have killed Yuuri by embarrassment alone. But for once in his life, he’s not busy thinking about everyone outside of him. He’s not thinking about the tabloids or the judges or the cold or anything at all. All he’s aware of is that Victor’s lips are on his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. It isn’t until Victor pulls away that the shock hits him.

                “That was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me.”

                 Yuuri takes a moment to take in the man above him, eyes warm and nose red and making a spectacle out of the both of them. And that’s when he knows. That’s when he realizes that this Victor—beautiful and frustrating and imperfect—has been the Victor he’s been in love with for a while.

                And that’s when he knows that Victor loves him just as much.


	30. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pillow Talk

                The sun rises late and lazy in Barcelona. Neither Yuuri—who hates mornings—or Victor—who went just a _little_ hard at the Banquet the night before—are inclined to move when it does peek into their hotel room. Yuuri, however, is the stronger sleeper of the two, and he remains steadfastly asleep as Victor rouses himself. He looks around blearily, but his head instantly clears as he catches sight of Yuuri lit from behind by the sun.

                His hair catches the light, jet black turning to bright gold, and the light dances against the curve of Yuuri’s cheek, the pout of his lips, the slope of his neck to his shoulder. Even if Victor wanted to pull his eyes away, he couldn’t.

                “Amazing,” he whispers, fingers hesitantly reaching out to touch Yuuri’s face. He automatically leans into it, brown eyes opening and squinting in the light only to widen a moment later.

                _Oh._

                Victor in the morning sun is _glorious._ His eyes are the brightest blue Yuuri had ever seen, and his skin is so delicate it’s nearly translucent in this bright light. His hair’s become a halo of gold, making him every bit the angel Yuuri had always seen him as.

                _My god_ , they both think, _how am I so lucky?_

                Victor smiles warmly at Yuuri, and Yuuri returns it. For a while, that’s all they do—smile at each other over their pillow. Victor’s hand goes to Yuuri’s hair to run his fingers through it.

                “So you didn’t win gold,” he says.

                “No, I didn’t,” Yuuri says, too busy nuzzling against Victor’s hand to be ashamed.

                “Yurio won’t let you take the World’s gold that easily.”

                “I know.”

                “And neither will I.”

                “Good.” Yuuri turns his head up to kiss Victor’s palm.

                “So you’d better work three times as hard over the next few months, because I can’t stand waiting to become your husband.”

                Yuuri chuckled, tucking his head back into his pillow. “We don’t have to wait. We could go now, if you wanted.”

                “Ah, but I already made my announcement, Yurenka. Besides, trying to choreograph a whole new program and plan a wedding is more than I can manage.” He sighs as he twirls some of Yuuri’s hair around his fingers. “And besides, you ought to work at least a little bit for my hand in marriage.”

                Yuuri smiles against his pillow. “Okay. I can work a bit.” He shuts his eyes with a sigh as Victor strokes his cheek. “Tell me this doesn’t have to stop, though.”

                “This only stops when you tell me to stop, Yuuri.”

                “Then never stop.”

                “Okay.”

                Yuuri smiles at Victor’s easy acquiescence, and he opens his eyes once more. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I probably won’t believe it until the day I die.”

                “Then I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong.” Victor pulls himself on top of Yuuri, pressing his lips earnestly against Yuuri’s and keeping him as close as possible. Yuuri returns the kiss, gripping hard onto Victor as if he’ll disappear every moment. It’s slow and deliberate, as if each man is memorizing their partner’s movements and committing it to memory as if it’s the last time they’ll ever kiss. Victor’s hand goes down Yuuri’s back; Yuuri’s fingers comb through Victor’s hair.

                “Promise this is real, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs against his lips. “Please, tell me that this is really happening.”

                “It’s happening,” Victor replies, pressing himself down and cupping Yuuri’s face. “And it’s going to be real for the rest of our lives.”

                And both of them absolutely believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I  
> DID  
> IT.
> 
> I DID ALL THIRTY PROMPTS. I DID IT. ENJOY.
> 
> And please join me next week when I cry inconsolably about skeletons who just wanted to go home via fanfiction
> 
> UPDATE: THANK YOU ALL FOR THE KUDOS. I wasn't expecting anyone to look at this little exercise, but I'm so glad you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!! ( ´ ♡ `)ノ～ ♡


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